Into the Storm

prelude |

Flames climbed the walls and kissed the ceiling, consuming all in its path as its white-hot fingertips made their way towards the last spark of life. With one hand keeping her femur in place, the other on the gash across her chest, she tried to push off her good leg and create space between her and the all-consuming fire, but it was useless. The linoleum was coated in blood so slick that she barely could get a grip, let alone any momentum to get away from the heat. Her sobs had devolved into deep heaves, the dark smoke burning her lungs and stinging her eyes, vision blurred with unshed tears. She pulled her eyes from the ceiling and to the fiery chasm that was once her kitchen.

No longer was there a bench where she sat with Ellis and Lila, throwing popcorn into each other's mouths as her mother tried to prepare dinner. Destroyed was the kitchen table where they all held hands in prayer, even though they had all at least had one spoon of mashed potato before her mother caught her in the act. Gone was the mural her father had painted after many months. All of it was lost in a haze of smoke and dancing flames.

She blinked back tears, whether it was from the thought of her parents or the smoke, it didn't matter much either way; she was alone now. Those feelings were all that she could sense in the fire that had consumed her home; her injuries, fear of the inevitable, the multilated corpses throughout the two-storey house—nothing mattered anymore. She was going to die, and in a flicker of that passing thought, she was comforted knowing that she'd see her mother and father again. Through the blood and tears, a small smile painted her lips as her head tilted backwards against the wall. By this point, it was inhalation or loss of blood that would take her, and with that knowledge, she finally stopped battling.

Her coughs turned into shallow gasps and she slid sideways before she finally sunk to the floor. Slowly and softly, the world before her faded away. The distinct crackle of the fire and victorious cries of her foe turned into nothing, black smoothed over her vision and it felt as if everything was going to be alright. She imagined it was like laying between water and land, a tide rolling across her skin only to pull whatever energy left from her. It was nice. She didn't weep. She didn't feel the blistering heat either.

She didn't hear anything. Not the splinters on the hardwood floor as the door was kicked in, nor the roar of her name on his tongue—not even the sound of bones crunching. She was dead by then.