Short Words

Up in Flames

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Author's Note: So this one could possibly have a part two...? Not sure yet. But anyway, the assignment for this was for the whole class to create a character together. My class ended up making this crazy workout addict with some rather heavy weight on her shoulders.

My dogs, a Pitbull named Charlie and a German Shepherd I named Ginger, wake me from my slumber with wet kisses at five in the morning everyday. It's the best way to wake up. On my way to my grand weight room after a glass of muscle milk, the "No pain, no gain" posters all around my house here in inner Hollywood make me smile. After many hard working, determined hours with heavy metal blasting through my speakers, I noticed that I have missed a total of four phone calls. Carla, my oh-so-perfect sister, has been trying to get a hold of me for weeks. As I pulled back my short hair in a ponytail, a memory from the Catholic school that we went to surfaced abruptly and caught me off guard. I remember getting hit with rulers constantly for daydreaming of a better life. The thought of Carla waving her never ending rain of perfect grades in my face made me automatically scrunch my face in disappointment. As I shake the thoughts of her out of my head, I get ready for my job at the gym down the street. I say my goodbyes to my furry pals, pick up my red bag, and open the door to leave.

 I trained at a rundown gym was not my first pick, but it's a start. When I open my own gym everyone won't want to leave. After I secure the door and turn around, that's when our eyes meet. I haven't seen her in years, but here she was at the bottom of the steps to my front door smiling obnoxiously. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and makeup were disgustingly perfect as always. Her lack of arm muscle was repulsive. The hourglass figure in front of me made me feel uneasy. In fact, her whole presence made me feel uneasy. How dare my sister just walk up to my door like this.

"Hi," her voice squeaked. She tugged on the hem of her green, lace dress. I suddenly felt self conscious of my loose, gray sweatpants and worn out Superman t-shirt, but it quickly subsided when she took another step up to me. I shook my head in disbelief. "Dylan, sweetheart, I know I'm the last person you want to see right now," she looked down at my torn up tennis shoes. "But I want things to be mended. I want things to be right between us." I didn't know what she wanted me to say. Did she expect I would welcome her back into my life after she made it a living hell? Did she expect me to forgive her for what she'd done? I rudely pushed past her, hitting shoulders on the way down. She quickly grabbed at my arm desperately, "Look, I know you hate me, and you have good reason," she stopped, possibly having a flashback.

It was when I was 13 and Carla was 16. She was starting to drive and go out with her friends more, so it was just me and my parents most of the time. Maybe it was just because I was young, but I thought one day she was just going to leave and never come back. Even though she was nearly never home with the family, she still maintained her perfect reputation. Carla had the best friends, the best grades, the best hair, the best clothes, the best personality, and the best life. We had been close, super close. We were best friends. It changed when she started dating this guy who drove a beat up Chevy with a wooden board as the front bumper. That's when the arguments started between her and our parents. One night when Carla was grounded, we decided to make a family meal like we used to. We dreamed of opening a restaurant together called "Sweet and Salty Sisters", I assumed I was the salty part. Our parents were in the living room catching up on the daily news. Carla had been mad all day. She was mad at my parents for not understanding her. Although I was younger, I completely understood that our parents just cared about her, she didn't see that. "Dylan, let's poison their food so we can run away and live somewhere cool. Somewhere like Hollywood" I remember her saying. I laughed it off, not taking it seriously.

 I stepped away from the stove making sure it was off, I knew it was off. I went to ask my parents about taking me to an art event in the park. Back then I was artistic, I loved art. I remember the last thing they said to me was "Let us see the flier". It's awful to think that the last words you spoke to someone could really be your last. Maybe realizing that would make people more conscious of what they say. I was on my way upstairs to my room where the flier waited, when someone grabbed me roughly. I was whisked through the hall towards the kitchen, but the kitchen was engulfed in bright flames. Before I could register what was happening, I was pushed through the backdoor. When we were finally outside I looked at my rescuer. It was Carla, my sister. I thought so highly of her at that moment, she saved me. The entire house was soon illuminated with flames. It was hard to believe a small kitchen fire could result like this. The fire department showed up. The house was drenched with water. There was no sign of our parents. It was like a movie, nothing seemed real, but it all looked rehearsed. Everyone from the street come out to watch the show. All the actors dressed as firefighters fought the fire. The two children standing in the front lawn, inundated with emotions, clinging to each other watching their childhood home go up in flames. They told us our parents went upstairs and became overwhelmed with flames. They were looking for me. I was supposed to be upstairs.

From that day everyone thought of it as a horrific accident. They assumed I left the burner of the stove on and something as small as a paper towel caught on fire. Then everything fell like dominoes. One action leading to another. I felt the blame. Carla never looked the same after that. She always had a hint of worry in her eyes. She was the only one in the kitchen. She was there. It was never said out loud, but Carla was extremely upset that night and the "let's poison them" comment became a little too real to me. However, no one would believe me, because she was perfect.

Now she stood in front of me, still with worry in her eyes, trying to become a part of my life again. She finally let go of my arm and grabbed at the edge of her dress again. "Dylan, please." I will not be dragged into her shadow once again. I walked away from her. I was in a better life now. I had a new goal, a new dream, and it did not involve her. The gym was in sight when I realized the tapping of heels on the sidewalk. I did not dare turn around. The gym was already busy, just how I like it. I clocked in at exactly ten.

"You actually work here?"

"Yes, Carla, I do work here. Got a problem?" I snap. Sure, it isn't the best gym, but like I said, it's a starter and I take pride in my work. She started to walk around giving glances at the torn leather and dirty weights. She came up next to me at the desk and looked at the classes offered. "Yoga? Now that's my kind of class!" Of course she would be into that. Of course she would love that. Of course she would like something so "organic". I rolled my eyes without commenting. Stalking my way over to my area of the weight room, she followed close at my heels, a little too close. I wiped off the dust that collected on some of the barbells and she stood there awkwardly.

"Can I help you?" I asked annoyed.

"I would like to take you out for your lunch break. Until then, I'll be in a yoga class."