Their Perfect Fallacies

Our Roof Is On Fire

   It wasn't until I reached the last three steps of the stairs that I noticed something was off.
   It was Saturday night, my parents were off to God knows where without me again and I was left to procrastinate working on my school project by watching dramas and watching fan fictions (being a basic teenagers). I stepped off of the last three steps in one leap, my left foot sliding 8 inches in front of my right one due to spilt milk.
   Spilt milk, on my porcelain floor.
   And I'm not making a pun right now, either. There are milk trails all the way from the puddle under my feet to the front door, which stood unfazed, firmly shut.
   'Well, no use crying over spilt milk.', I said wryly in my head in an attempt to calm the rising panic in my guts. The lights were on, and I wasn't playing my music too loud-- heck I was even watching my dramas on silent, that's how on edge I was about staying home alone. So how could I not have noticed if something has spilt so much milk all over my white floor? I mean, surely, there must've been at least a few splashes that I'd have heard. At this point, I noticed the panic getting to my heads down making my thoughts run in meaningless loops. I cross my arms and stuff my sweaty hands under each armpit firmly and worked my way around the milk, walking pointedly on one on the rugs to dry off the milk from my feet, leaving them a bit sticky and it was honestly disgusting, but I was too afraid to let my eyes leave the front door. I proceed to the darkened shadows in the direction of the storage room under the stairs. I open the door and hide my body behind it, poking my head out to ensure that my vision not leave the door for even a second.
   I chanced a glance at the rest of the bottom floor, scanning the couches, the table, the entrance to the dark kitchen, and then, finally mustering up the courage, I turn my gaze to the windows, one by one, peering through the translucent blinds into the night, afraid of what I'd find. With each passing second, my breathing was only getting more labored and I concluded that the best course of action right now was to call my parents and let them know of my situation. Unfortunately, finding nothing beyond the stained glass of the windows only heightened my fright, because milk doesn't spill itself.      But... Was that even milk? Did that even make sense? What's going on? Is that some kind of poison?
  Should I have a taste?
   I'm losing my marbles. I need to pull myself together.
   Just as I regained my composure and stepped out of the shadows to advance towards the house phone on the nearby coffee table, the house door's handle clicked.
   And clicked.
   And clicked again.
   That's all three locks I put on the food after my parents have left the house just a few hours prior.
   Could it be my parents? They're the only ones with the key, even I don't have the house key.
   In the seconds it took me to formulate this thought, the door handle started to turn, and I could feel the blood draining from my face and the tips of my fingers growing cold. I stood rooted to the spot, I couldn't move no matter how hard I try.
   As I watched, the door blurred in and out of my vision, and was convinced I was about to faint from fright when the door started wobbling and twisting around the edges, growing stereoscopic at some edges till it finally morphed into a- a-
   Was that a tree?
   My vision began focusing again, and by the time it fully came back to me the branches of a tree that now stood in replacement for my door wove their way all over my walls and pierced their way through the roof to the floor above, odd leaves growing here and there.
   I was convinced I was seeing shit.
   I never did drugs.
   Was it the milk?
   And, after a few seconds of the tree making holes everywhere in my house- the floor I stood on, the roof on top of me, it even reached the stairs I was hiding under- everything went as still at the calm before the storm, and i just stood there, unable to comprehend the situation at hand.
   Suddenly, it was lights out. All he lights went off, and all sounds that I could hear -cars, perhaps the wind of the summer night air- shut down as if someone pulled the plug on the tv I was watching.
   In the still darkness, I shivered. Something was terribly wrong. What the hell is happening. Should I use my ability? But I don't know how to operate on inanimate objects, I only know how to see through living things. And then, in the pure darkness, I saw a spark. It was one. As if someone was lighting a match.
   And 1
   2
   3 seconds later, roaring liquid fire exploded from that tiny spark with waves of scorching heat that singed the tips on my cloths and threw the furniture backwards, me along with it, the fire traveling the branches of the odd tree to every corner of my house, lighting up everything with a horrifying glow that screamed 'death' and 'doom'.