ContamiNation

(Chapter 50)

3426 words

(Warning: this chapter has some graphic scenes involving abuse, bullying, pain, burning, and death/murder of the living)

Jolyne/Diamma

I don't remember falling asleep. I never really do, I'm just awake and thinking and then there's nothing. The blank numbness of unconsciousness, that's all that sleep is; unless you dream. In that case, you're woken up in a fantasy land just real enough to trick you into thinking you're awake in the real world. Then you wake and wonder how did you not see that it was a dream.

It was so bright, all yellow and red and orange and hot—so, so, so hot. I felt like my skin would shrivel up and fall off my bones like perfectly BBQ'd ribs. I was scared to run my hands through my hair to push it from my face simply because I knew if I brushed my hair I'd end up with more hair on the ground than on my head. Pushing my way through the halls entirely covered in flame, every wall closer to my skin than he last, the ceiling falling in on me, the floor was disappearing around me. I was forced into a crouch and could barely make the jumps from one soggy carpet to the next.

I could feel my heart pushing harder against my ribs. Every move screaming "Get out get out get out". The only thing more painful than that was the tightness in my lungs. I couldn't breathe, the smoke was so heavy I could barely see my hand (from tears, brightness, or the smoke itself, I didn't know).

The next jump would be too big, I knew it, but I couldn't stop my body from trying. I fell through the carpet, it sagged and ripped beneath my body, and I fell through layer after layer after layer of carpets. Ten, twenty, thirty floors.

My head hit grass and dirt. The copper tang of blood filled my mouth. I spat blood, dirt and soot. I was outside. I'd gotten out. It was so cold, middle of February cold but I couldn't see my breath no matter how hard I panted. The cold burned my throat in a comforting way, my lungs gladly took the cold pain as opposed to the hot smoke that I'd been breathing moments before.

I turned my head to the burning building. It wasn't my home. It was an ugly, concrete structure with broken windows and a barbed fence around it. Around me.

Then the screams started. No sirens coming to stop the fire, just screams, layered on top of each other, to the point it was just one loud noise. I covered my ears but the sound was in my head. I tried to scream too, but I couldn't even speak. My mouth made no sound. I was mute.

I squeezed my eyes shut, held my hands over my ears, and positioned myself to my knees. And as suddenly as it started, all the screaming stopped. And I wasn't alone.

Feet—a lot of feet. I turned on my toes, not wanting to look up. A foot swung out kicking me in the head.

I laid on my back looking up at the faces of people I thought were my friends. I knew they couldn't be. I was not allowed to have friends. The face of my most dreaded enemy was there, right above me.

"Mom," I tried to say. But I had no voice. Instead, a broken sound came from my throat instead.

She gave a smooth kick to my head, stomach, crotch—laughing more with each one delivered. "Coward, bitch, useless." She poured her drink (what was left of it) on me. There wasn't much. She took out her anger on me, saying I'd drank some when she wasn't looking. "I don't drink that much. See you've spilled my drink on yourself. Stop drinking and get me another one."

She turned her back on me and walked away, the crowd parting for her, and tossed her bottle over her shoulder. I hid my head under my hands, the glass broke over my wrists but I didn't feel it. "Help," I tried to say to anyone around me but even Carris smiled down at me.