Gone | hs

13-Glory and Gore

[Jenna's POV]

---

"Harry," I cough, "the smoke. We have to get out of here."

Harry pulled the hem of his shirt up to his face to cover his nose. He stands up weakly and pulls my arm up.

"Everyone get out!" Security guards are doing their best to extinguish the flames but nothing is working. The controls are still on but a ring of flame has them blocked off. I have an idea pop into my head but I know I wouldn't walk away unharmed. I can't leave Harry.

The nudge to do the right thing is there, but glory and gore go hand in hand.

The images of that January night filter into my mind. I won, against the odds.

The flames can't take me, because victory's contagious.

I guess I'm fighting myself in this situation.

I stand shakily and I'm pulled into a tight embrace as Harry's left arm locks around my shoulders as his right hand keeps his shirt over his mouth.

The hot air makes my neck sticky with sweat, while the smoke burns my lungs and stains my skin.

I try to pull in oxygen but the only feeling I receive is the sensation of acid being poured down my throat.

The crowd goes out through the front door. Flames lick at our feet as we pick up the pace. This will make the headlines.

The scorching heat finally breaks away as Harry and I are pushed through the door as bricks tumble down from the wall, about two feet behind us.

I'm breathing hard and Harry is having a coughing fit.

The cool cement feels good against my skin.

I just lay down, and let the crisp spring air blow through my hair and across my skin.

Harry lays a gentle hand on my back, "Jenna? Are you alright, love?" He asks tenderly.

I nod my head, closing my eyes for a split second when a shrill voice says, "The firefighters can't get here, construction on Main Street!"

I see apartment buildings rising on both sides of the club. They could contain children, tucked away in bed, dreaming sweetly, unaware of the roaring fire meters away. Elderly people watching late night tv, whom wouldn't be able to evacuate near soon enough.

We let our battles choose us.

"Harry, I need water." I croak. I hate to do this, but I need him not to be here when I make my decision. My throat and skin still burns; my eyes sting from the harsh smoke. The crowd from inside stands around the street corner, probably seeking to sue someone for this.

Harry rubs my back before running across the street to the gas station. I wait sitting on the ground until he's out of view.

I couldn't bare to say goodbye and see the pain displayed on his features.

"Hey, I'm about to do something stupid. A curly brown haired boy will look for me, tell him I love him." I tell the red haired girl who gave the signaling scream earlier. She nods.

I take a feel deep gulps of air before charging into the roaring inferno.

Screams and shouts come at me but I know what I must do. I have to turn the flames off.

I don't ever think about death.

---

The hot and thick air curls around my head and ash sticks into my braided hair. I army crawl in my dress across the floor. The marble of the dance floor isn't flammable. As soon as I step of the dance floor, I'll be on wood and that will hurt like a bitch.