Let Me Out

Chapter 1

     "This is where I used to live." I say as the reporters hover around me. I stare into the black eyes of the camera, waiting for them to open wide in horror, like mine did. "That's where the grocery store was, and that's my house." I point to a pile of ashes and the concrete frame of two buildings. "Or at least it was." I add, sighing.

     "Where did the fire start?" One man asks, swiveling his camera around. A woman shoves a microphone in my face, and I bite my lip. I think for a moment, then gesture to where my dad's office used to be. I can tell they are zooming in and out with their fancy equipment, trying to get a closer look at what happened. But they'll never see what actually went on there. Only I know, and there's no way I'm telling them. 

     "What's it like for you, Lila?" I hear another person say. An older woman steps forward, and I can see the logo on her shirt. Another small town reporter, it seems, because I don't recognize the weird swirl. "I mean, you're a sixteen year old girl who has just lost her only home. How does that make you feel?" She asks. The other people shoot her a glare as if to say, "how insensitive." I ignore the harshness of her question. I look her dead in the eye, and I say as calmly as possible,

     "Terrible. Not for myself, but for people like my dad. People who died. People who gave their lives to help people like me. Useless, ungrateful people like me. To think I could have done something..." I break off. She nods sympathetically, like she understands completely. But I can see the greed in her eyes. All she wants is a good story, something juicy to tell the world. To tell the world how hurt sixteen year old Lila is. Useless old Lila. I hope I gave her what she wanted. She steps back, letting another reporter take her place. I begin to answer more pointless quiestions, half of which I have already answered. I say things like "yes." And "no." And "over there." But my heart isn't in to it. My mind begins to wander, which  I realize is a terrible mistake.

    I'm back to 22 hours ago, in my cozy bed reading, waiting for my dad to come home. My book is about a brave girl who fights monsters who hurt others. I wish I could be the brave girl. I always have. At school, I was the small shy girl. With friends, I was always the awkward quite one. With my dad, well, I could be me. I  definantly wasn't the brave girl, but I wasn't the shy girl either. I was really Lila. Now, I wait to be really Lila. I have eaten dinner and finished my homework, and now all I do is wait until I hear the familiar clunk of my fathers brown loafers coming up the stairs to kiss me goodnight and tell me a story about his day. But he never comes.

     Suddenly, a loud woosh noise makes me drop my book. It sounds like an explosion, or  the fanning of flames. Then I smell the smoke, and I know it's flames. I leap out of bed, rushing to find the cherry red fire extinguisher. I grab the large barrel and shake it, and my stomach drops. It's empty. I drop to the ground, the smoke thicker now. Pulling my shirt over my mouth, I take out my phone. I try to call the police, the fire department, someone, but I can't hear anyone above the crackling of flames. I begin to dail my fathers number, but suddenly I hear the door fling open. 

     "Lila, we have to get out of here!" My dad screams. "Your mother is waiting, we have to go!" I reach out, grabbing his hand. He pulls me up, and we both run to our front yard. Suddenly, I realize that the fire isn't just in our house, it's everywhere. We're trapped in a ring of orange flame, creeping closer to us with every second. My hands begin to shake feircly, and tears begin to stream down my face. "It's gonna be okay, Lila." I hear my fathers voice say. His words are calm, but I know he is just as scared as I am. I search frantically for a way out, and I find one. There's a small opening in the wall of heat, big enough for me and my father to slip through if we hurry. I point, and he nods. He holds up his hands and counts down to three. We run to the opening, knowing our lives are at stake. But before I realize what's happening, I hear a yell. I don't stop, but my father does. In the middle of the flames. He cries out, and his eyes are filled with pain.

     That's how I'll remember him for the rest of my life. His brown hair messy and singed. His green eyes screaming at me to run, but his mouth pulled in a smile. He knows he won't survive. But he knows I will. I scream, but he pushes me forward, out of the wall of flames. I don't look back, tears streaming down my bright red cheeks. My mind is as hazy as the smoke, and I don't recognize that I am safe until about fifty yards after the "Welcome to Grayville." sign. A few neighbors stand there, watching their home's burn. Some try to comfort me, others cry with me. But most are still in there, trapped in the wall of flames. And as the authorities arrive, I could have sworn I saw two, men running in the opposite direction.

                                                                                         .       .        .

     "Lila, Lila are you alright?" Voices say, disrupting my memories. I realize I am shaking, snot dripping out of my nose and my lips have just released a sob. My shoulders are being shook, and I shake my head to clear it. My vision comes into focus, and I can see the cameras once more. I begin to calm down, and the reporters do too. One camera man lowers his gear and the rest follow his lead. They give each other looks that say, that's enough for now.  I couldn't agree more.

     Hey guys! So I got bored and decided, hey why not write something in first person? So I did, and I actually like how it turned out. There will be more, and I hope you guys like it. Again, suggestions, ideas, or grammar corrections are always welcome, if polite. THANKS GUYS!