Life In Hell

Fuego

I remember the day my sister Dasika signed up for Transfield Services.
It was a few years ago.

Her excitement was contagious.

She picked me up in her Jeep and we went 'round the island between 1-100 times, singing along to the crappy Fm105 radio songs and imitating the news announcer's voice.
We ate sooo much junk that day, I'm surprised I haven't been diagnosed with Diabetes, but it might pop up so I gotta practice being not scared of needles and appreciating my limbs a bit more.

She had such high hopes for her first real job because, in her own words, it was going to be some kind of badass next level security shit.

I think she went through a training programme for a month, but I'm not sure.

After the month was up, I started seeing her a lot less.

I was busy with school and my obsession with Youtube stars like Lele Pons and Anwar Jibawi.
(I didn't have much of a social life 'cause I was a loner at heart and the small number of friends I have were the same way)

One day she arrived home late smelling suspiciously like fire and she cried. It was the first time I'd ever seen her cry ever since the day her cat died and even then she wasn't so hysterical.

She locked herself up in her room and didn't come out till the next morning for breakfast.

I didn't know how else to ask her without being inconsiderate so I just asked,

"Why?"

Daskia looked up from her plate of bacon and eggs and told me in a hoarse voice that a man had set himself on fire right in front of them and she had frozen instead of stopping him.

She handed in her resignation letter months later when she encountered a similar experience in the camp.