The day I turned fifteen was the day everything changed. I sprinted across the schoolyard, bolting for my life as the field was trampled by students escaping the burning schoolhouse. Smoke billowed behind me, and the acrid smell of fire stung my nostrils.
Just moments before, Mrs. Anderson had droned on, her voice barely cutting through the chatter of my classmates. "Turn to page 21," she yelled tiredly, unaware of the danger lurking just outside our classroom.
As the pages flipped, a shadow slipped through the window—an ominous figure cloaked in black. My heart raced, the feeling of dread washing over me as I caught a glimpse of him. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a lighter onto the dry wooden floor, flames erupting almost instantly.
Chaos erupted. My classmates screamed, scrambling for the exit as the fire spread like a living creature, hungry for destruction. I could feel the heat at my back, a burning reminder of the danger we faced.
I pushed through the throng of students, the ground shaking beneath our hurried steps. The once-familiar hallways transformed into a maze of terror, the flames licking at the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced with our fear.
Outside, the cool air hit my face like a refreshing wave, but the sight that met my eyes froze me in place. The schoolhouse blazed, flames reaching for the sky, as fire trucks screamed in the distance.
The reality sank in: our safe haven was gone, and nothing would ever be the same. As I stood there, breathless and shaken, I knew that turning fifteen was no longer just about cake and balloons. It was about survival, courage, and the sudden loss of innocence.
That day, I learned that change could come like a thief in the night, and sometimes, it takes the form of fire.
