The Birth of a Wishing Heart

16. A Cover Story

"Mamma!" Hansel shrieked between coughs. Strangers grabbed at his shoulders and waist to pull him away. His fingers stretched out desperately, blindly seeking his mother's hold. "Get off! She's in there!"

He was so close.

He thrashed and tried to kick away the hands that wanted to separate them. Water was thrown on his clothes, slowly peeling the fabric away from his skin with a loud sizzle. The water seeped through holes in the fabric, partly stinging and relieving his red skin.

Their protests didn't make sense. Hansel threw himself forward and reached out only for the tip of his fingers to feel bland metal. He jerked his hand away at the burning touch. Another large bucket of water was thrown before him. His drenched hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He coughed and tried to open his watering eyes as smoke spread into a larger cloud.

The smoke began to clear as the burning in his chest kept him from reaching out. He put a hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath while grabbing hands only grew more frantic around him. The voices of the crowd behind him mixed into incomprehensible noise.

The image only lasted a moment, but he couldn't look away.

Holes.

So many tears and bloodied holes grew to reveal diminishing muscle and bone underneath. Her eyes were oozing from their hollow sockets.

She was watching him.

Her flesh spread and melted to the sides, sticking to the ground like nothing.

She was still reaching for him.

That putrid smell in the air, it was his mother.

A familiar voice called him in the distance. It came closer and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up. He knew he should have been looking at his father- instead, he saw only melting flesh.

It wasn't until the adrenaline started to run out that he found himself unable to think of anything but the pain in his lungs. He could feel the throbbing throughout his body. His uncontrollable sobs did nothing to aid his breathing. There were too many people, and the air was thinning. He couldn't breathe.

Hansel woke up to a cold, damp handkerchief on his forehead. The bandages wrapped around his arms made him feel a little stiff. He winced as he pressed his palms onto the sheets to force himself into a sitting position. He blinked his heavy eyes slowly and took in his surroundings.

He lay down on a hay mat in a large, crowded tent. Other beds were beside his, with sleeping individuals and different families around each bed. Lamps that steamed with a fragrance were scattered throughout, while natural light streamed through the sides of the tent. Overlapping, strange whistles sang through the fresh air. A pitcher of water and a piece of board sat beside him.

His Itchy eyes widened, and he reached toward it without hesitation. He chugged the cool drink, in large quantities. It made his throat feel scratchy, but he couldn't stop. Small droplets dripped down his chin onto his pants before he parted from it and gasped for air.

He placed the pitcher back to its position before wiping his lips with his sleeve. He squinted as he looked back at his palms, turning them over quickly. Why were they so red? He looked around at the other patients in bed. Most were asleep, some were painted in soot, and some had burns littered through their limbs. His fingers trembled as he remembered the heat. He took off the handkerchief from his forehead and felt his bandages. They were thick and held something underneath, probably crushed aloe, but why?

"He's awake." He shifted his gaze to see a man put another container of herbs on a table and approach him. A woman quickly ran out of the tent. "Your father is helping dig a water trench to further suffocate the fire, but a messenger was sent to let him know you're awake. How are you doing?"