Short Stories

The Tragedy

   I remember smoke. Lots of it. It was hot. I was burning. I wanted to scream but my throat was on fire. It hurt to just open my mouth. I could hear crackling and... Voices?
   Yes. There were voices. Many.
   Sirens were going off. I couldn't see anything. Everything was black. I breathed, only to cough. I winced at the pain.
   My eyes watered and tears poured down my cheeks, stinging my burns. The pain felt good.
   I didn't remember where I was. My home? A forest? A car? The store? A field? I had no clue.
   The voices were closer. But I didn't want them to find me. I tried to crawl away. But they found me. They picked me up and carried me away.
   I tried to scream. But my throat was raw. I clawed at them. I didn't want to go. Something was here. I wasn't leaving it to be destroyed on its own. They accidentally dropped me as I pushed them away.
   I hugged the ground and tried to scream as they dragged me away. Fire bit my skin but I savored the pain. I grabbed at the ground. Everything was hot. I dug my my fingers into it. My nails began to bleed.
   Cool air hit my blistered skin. People were yelling, but I still couldn't see. I blinked, but nothing cleared. I touched my face and found holes in my eyes.
   I remembered scratching my eyes out. I never needed them anyway. There wasn't anything in this world I hadn't already seen.
   I felt myself being lifted and began to struggle again. The sheer touch of someone hurt. They laid me down. I tried to get up but was pushed back. They strapped me to the bed and rushed me into what I suspected was an ambulance.
People cleaned around my eyes and burns before wrapping my body in soft cloth. It all hurt but I just smiled at the pain. Tears soaked the cloth and burned my face.
I balled my hands into fists. Laughing as the doctors pried my hands open to reveal a small blade stuck in my skin. I stopped laughing. I screamed as they began to remove it. I had it with me. They weren't taking it from me.
"Don't" I yelled trying to close my hand again. "Keep it in!"
It was the only thing had I had left. That's all I knew. I didn't know where I got it. I just knew it was the last thing I had in my useless life. They finally got it out and I started struggling fiercely. Blood flowed down my hand. "Put it back!" I said, my lungs burning.
Then everything went black.

It's been years. I still don't know what happened, and don't want to. I still have a scar from the blade. I keep it as a souvenir now. I'm blind, but you already knew that. I'm kept in a psych ward. I'm trusted by many. But they don't know the real me.
I puked up my lighter a few days after the incident. I'm planning on starting my next fire in a few weeks. I just need some kindling...