Beating hearts

Chapter 1

THIS BOOK IS UNDER REVISIONS! STORY WONT ALIGN AT THE MOMENT! ‼️

The oldest guess and most popular theory on how the world will come to an end is either fire or ice. But death doesn't only have two options, we all have our theories about the infamous end, it could be consumed by the two elements, or it could choose a different path of its own. Shaking and splitting could be the beginning before crumbling and completely falling apart into nothing, us falling with it. Water could rise flooding everything, the tallest mountain, soaking the driest desert, drowning us slowly. Maybe the center of the Earth's core will open its big ferocious mouth and swallow us whole, but if evil be the one to consume us, it will indeed choke.

Everyone has the thought on how the world will come to an end, but no one gives to much thought on how their own death will occur. We avoid thoughts of the raw and brutal realities—being murdered, drowned, consumed by fire. Cruel, harsh ways to die, yet undeniably real.

In this instant fire had let loose its fury, spreading and destroying everything it touched, just like evil, fire cannot be tamed, it can be raised and extinguished, but once it claims and latches onto something with its deceitful grasp, it is not easily escaped. To a young girl, death doesn't make too many appearances, and it definitely doesn't come as a fiery knight on horseback to whisk you away, at least it's not supposed to, but the dark and evil masked had locked its black eyes, it wanted as much as a soulless figure could, the taste of one girl in particular.

~

Aras eyes blurred as the fire danced around her, slow motion flames formed like little devils, laughing and taunting her with their existence, circling around their prey, waiting to get a grip at her unclaimed soul, eager to take what wasn't yet theirs. But Ara was pure—pure like the rain that had refreshed the earth's grimy crust just this morning, before fire descended with its destructive force.

Ara was as genuine as they could come. A perfect sanctuary of innocence for a soul to reside in, bones made strong and un-cracked, a mind made of pure thoughts and detailed love, only knowing kindness and compassion. Her skin, pale as milk, uconsumed by any man. Eyes blue as a cloudless sky. She was unclenched, untainted, and undeserving of what was to come.

The fire raged, its forms shifting and morphing, her lungs burning from the smoke. Her head grew heavy, weighed down by the suffocating heat. She looked up at the ceiling, now splintered and ablaze, embers flying like fiery birds. She was the phoenixes prey now, the bird's beast and flower, not waiting to grow and blossom into the next setting, but lift its gold head and cringe to ash and dust.

But death waits for no one, and silver will buy no time, whether old or in our prime, no matter how cunning you cannot escape him or his deathly grasp, it is our morbid destiny, there is no talking your way out, and in this case no cheating or running. Ara knew it. Still, her mind scrambled for a way out, a desperate flicker of hope. But the odds were against her. The ceiling beams had collapsed onto her stomach and legs, one of them stabbing deep into her side. She tried to move it, but the effort was futile—her arms were pinned, the pain unbearable.

She lay there, powerless. Her eyes welled with tears, though she couldn't tell if they were from the pain or the helplessness of knowing she was about to die. She hated that feeling—the cruel finality of it all.

A flood of memories raced through her mind, each one flashing by like the pages of a book being flipped too fast to read. One memory made her smile, despite the agony—a memory of her mother, her best and most cherished moments. Heather Montgomery. Maiden name, Heather Myette. Ara could still remember every detail—her mother's infectious laugh, her bright blue eyes, her wavy flaxen hair, and the lavender scent that always lingered around her. It had been a year since her mother passed, yet her memory was etched in Ara's mind as if it were just yesterday.

The best memory and the best moments Ara shared with her mother, the memory that made her smile when she was trapped, hurt and about to face her fatal end of burning to death, was in the summertime, her sister Lilly was off at some wilderness camp, and their father, Caleb Montgomery, was working his double shifts at the office. Ara and heather would pack a picnic and walk a couple miles down the road, across the train tracks to this perfectly alluring pond, with white flowers that had fell from the trees into the crystal-clear water, the sun would sparkle and dance off the little pond giving it a magical prepossessing look. They would spread out an old quilt onto the verdant razor field and sit under a weeping tree. She often wondered why they called them that, because this particular tree seemed to be swaying and moving with such motion of contentment and happiness, maybe it wept for something once, but eventually found peace on the little hill it resides upon, discovered self-love and was content with just that. Then she would laugh at herself for going on about a tree.

Ara would lay her head on heathers lap, and they would talk and laugh for hours. Being there was so peaceful to her, a fairytale. Nothing bad could ever happen, nothing could take these moments away from her, everything was perfect in her world, and just like the tree she lay under, she was content with her life. It was by far, her favorite place to be. It was also a place that could only live in her memory now, because she would never again visit her peaceful pond, and happy weeping tree.

She thought of these moments as she lay bleeding on the ashen floor, trying to cling to the good while tragedy closed in.

But reality soon crashed back in. The comforting memories of her mother faded, replaced by the cold, creeping dread of what was to come. Ara wasn't just going to die—she was going to burn, along with her father and sister. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.