An inferno of all shades of red crackle and snap, such an extensive amount of sweat running down my body that I'm not sure what's melting; my skin or my sanity.
"Elvis!" I screech, too terrified to forge beyond my death bed; the firestorm too thick and brutal.
My eyes search through the fire that's attacking the trees, my soul yearning for any sign of my eight-year-old black lab, Elvis. By now, the ends of my yellow T-Shirt have shriveled, the soles of my shoes dissolving. The blaze glitches, attempting to bite me while dried up trees fall to the ground in all directions.
"Elvis," I gasp, shielding my head with my arms, strength weakening by the second, smoke clutching to my lungs.
My skin burns, stings and itches, bones transforming into rubber. I do a three-sixty, hoping and praying God gifts me with a way out. But there isn't one—just fire. My only reality being sheets of flames that reach the stars and stretch to the horizon.
I'm surrounded—completely and utterly surrounded. Alone and dying without my best friend.
Smoke and ash slither into my throat, clogging and scratching it. I topple to my knees, debris seeping into my pores as I hack, cough, and wheeze. And then the familiar, unventilated bark plays like music to my ears. He maneuvers between sparks, limping over to me, a gash running down his leg. My heart clenches at the sight of his whimpering form. A cold and wet nose nudges my scorched cheek, the green eyes of Elvis pleading into my own.
"Elvis," I gush wistfully, the smallest of smiles etched onto my blistered skin. "Right 'ere, boy," I attempt, my chapped mouth tight.
I pet behind his ear, my sickly, bony fingers covered in red blotches. It's weird, because I don't seem to feel it. In fact, it's soothing; the kind of warmth that thaws your insides.
I lay in the dirt, my chestnut hair singed at the ends. I like it better this way. Elvis nuzzles into the crook of my stomach, patches of his thick black fur missing. But he's still gorgeous. He cries into my neck as I rub all over his body, hoping it keeps me distracted from the squeeze and retract of my heart. I want the last thing I feel to be Elvis. Beautiful, loving Elvis.
I've always believed that hope is what keeps us going; to dream of a better tomorrow. But now? I don't even see there being a tomorrow.
A gust of wind and heat pushes against my back, flakes of glowing fireflies floating in the orange sky, the skin on my backside turning numb and void. And I realize this wildfire, the one that both started and ended Elvis' and I's yearly camping trip, is the most magnificent sight I've ever experienced in my short life. It's sad to see the forest of my childhood burn to the ground, but at least my best friend and I can go with it.
As far as I'm concerned, we're all as good as gone.
Elvis' leaf green eyes gleam, the falling image of once invincible green giants reflecting off his pupils. His soul, his aura, those eyes, seem to only whisper one thing in my ear.
Goodbye.
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For a "Believer Book Club" writing challenge. You should def check it out (:
