Walking on Fire

Chapter 7

Chapter seven

Julie Fescue

If there was a way to travel back in time, I’m sure many people would sign up to be on the list. Undoubtedly, everyone has something they wish they could do over or possibly change an unfortunate event.  I bet as this moment you are thinking about one too, which only goes to prove my point. For example, past events can haunt us like no other freakish nightmare out there has the conviction to do. The psychological demons evoked by an eradicated memory, have the power to induce a week worth of sleepless nights, transient Insomnia, or more than a month of disturbed sleep: Chronic Insomnia.

The word nightmare is derived from the old English word “mare”, a folkloric demon that harasses people in their sleep, and “night” which emphasizes the dream aspect of the situation.

To think that these demons were provoked by a wish to change a past occurrence; which can bring on some form of nostalgia. When you miss something or someone that use to be, is where it begins a whole new phase of terror.

The most twisted part of it all is that you have to live with it and move on.

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The beaded sweat cascaded down my forehead, as if it was looking for a safer place to be; and being on me wasn’t an option.

The flames had managed to engulf the corridor, and were now outlining the door frame of the room I use spend hours on end playing in.

Those times were obviously over, and I had more important things to worry about like finding my mom and dad.

I couldn’t recall what the fireman had told us on the day he came to explain fire safety. Why wasn’t I listening on that day? If I would have known…

I covered my nose, weary to not inhale the scents of hell, and cautiously reached for the door knob that belonged to the door of my parents’ bedroom, but I failed to open it. My fingers were damp with sweat, from both the immense heat and my nerves getting to the reasonable part of my brain.

I tried multiple times to open the door, but each time my fingers slipped, as if the door knob was coated with motor oil.

The flames were now getting closer; each inch lessening the possibility I had to escape alive and with my parents.

There was gasping yells coming from inside the bedroom, and then the door opened slowly and my mother appeared, her hair and clothes singed, on the floor crawling, and every movement taking tremendous amounts of oxygen that wasn’t available.

‘Mom!’ I yelled, but found that my voice was gone and that I had gone unnoticed by my mother who gradually made an attempt to reach the stairwell.

She moved again, but fell to the floor defeated.

I ran over to try to pick her up, but I was too weak and helpless.

I tried to cry, and when I thought I was crying; it was just sweat that didn’t seem to have end, coming out of my pores.

Burying my face in my arms seemed like the best thing to do, since in reality I couldn’t do anything at all, but after a while you could hear heaving steps coming up the stairs, and loud sizzling coming from above.

Firemen had appeared to help my parents escape, but they had not arrived quickly  enough to stop the raging inferno of hell on earth.

‘She isn’t breathing!’