Beasty | First Draft Sample

24

I've played with fire a lot lately. Waltzing fingers in the dancing candle flame. Daring of having ambitions are only for men, made.

I've played with fire a lot lately — or maybe ever since I was born. My dreams have always been larger than the dowry my father has saved.

I'm young still. Only sixteen springs lived. I suppose I've played with fire each day.

I wonder if that was what why I took it for granted — fire. Always imagining it to tickle, to bring discomfort. I had trusted myself to still perceive in the end.

But fire is that and so much more.

Fire is tickling — but only for so long — for soon it comes to claw on your skin. Ripping it, melting it until it's dead.

Real fire has touched me, and I have survived. The disfiguring on my leg, a scar I'll carry till the last breath.

This diary is only but a monument to symbolise my survival, the best my father could spare as a modest cobbler.

I've danced with fire — a waltz of flames yellow and red.

A blazing door to hell.

I've danced with fire before — what a fascinating road to death.

A fascinating road to death.

~^~
My hand kept a hold on the diary as I twisted in the bed, trying to move away from the pain, screaming in shock at the flames now clawing into my skin. My hand stuck under the blazing beam.

The smoke kept getting heavier, and I choked in the heaviness as another round of darkness covered my eyes.

I couldn't think. I couldn't scream without coughing; the smoke was too strong. I couldn't live — it was too blazing hot.

I'm dying! I'm dying. I'm dying...

As if realisation sunk in, I felt my heart jolt in my chest, the scarce amount of air knocking out of me, pulling me out of the hazy dream.

I don't want to die! I don't want to die!

Letting go of the book my hand grasped at the bed quilt and I at once grasped it with my hand, the hellfire eating at me as I felt my skin begin to melt under the beam.

Push it off! Push it off!

Closing my eyes, I twisted until my blanket covered legs pressed against the beam and placing my quilt covered hand and pushed!

"ARRRHHHH"

Survive! Survive, please!

The beam rolled off of the bed and I sprung up immediately, avoiding a glance at my badly marred hand as I quickly began covering myself with the quilt.

Live, Olivia! Live! Live!

My hand grabbed at the journal and I quickly brought my hand inside the quilt, looking around the now burning oven of a room.

"Romanov"

His name came out like a whisper, a whisper that could bring me my lifeline. But inside, it was a scream.

Spotting a path still free from the blaze I quickly jumped off the bed, gritting my teeth as my burnt hand brushed against the fabric of the quilt.