The Aftermath

-Anguish-

It wasn't as if I couldn't see. It was more like I wasn't there. Disconnected. I could see what was going on before me but I didn't comprehend what was really happening. My eyes were frozen as well as my body, and I saw movement in my peripheral vision, so much movement. But I was a stone in a storm.
Suddenly somebody shoved me over, and I fell to the ground. My ears were filled with screams and the roar of foot falls on the ground, and I was able to process what was around me. What had happened. What WAS happening.
I snapped my head upwards, pushing myself up. I shoved my way through the crowd, not caring who I sent toppling over. I ran until I was where she was, her body charred. It was so grotesque I flinched my head back and convulsed, screaming and sobbing at the same time.
She's dead!
The thought echoed around my heart, which was empty as a beech husk. The realization hit hard. I heard a wail of an ambulance, and suddenly I became hysteric, screaming and pulling at my hair. I ran towards her body and somebody threw their arm out, slamming into my gut. I screamed and clawed at their arm, her body forever engrained into my memory. The image that would be there forever when I closed my eyelids.
And then everything went black.
- - -
I woke up with my eyes closed, and I kept them that way, trying to sense my surroundings. I unclenched my muscles when I realized that I was in my room. I sank into its soft sheets, trying to forget. To forget her body, twisted, broken, her mouth ajar in the scream she had admitted, burnt-
How did I get here?
I must've been so hysterical then tranquilized me. Or maybe it was the shock.
I opened my eyes. Was it just me, or did the colors seem less vibrant? Had they always been that bland?
I tried to think of something else, but Makayla was all I could think of. Makayla Shaley Dawson. If I couldn't keep her out of my mind, I might as well think of the good times with her, I had lots of those.
I remember when we first met. It was so long ago I'm surprised I can still remember it at all.
We were back in day-care, when we were about 5 or so, and she had taken the dollhouse I had wanted. She screamed and kicked so fiercely, and my eyes had widened-I'd never been able to act like that before! I gave up the dollhouse, and she snatched it away. Afterwards I cautiously went up to her, as if she were a new specimen to be observed, and asked if I could play with her. She said yes. I noticed her Barbie was sporting a sequined top, high heels, and a short hot pink skirt. Mine was dressed in an evening gown.
And that's how we met. It turned out that her house was a couple down from mine, and our mothers took us to meet up daily-they were glad enough to get a break.
I closed my eyes, remembering the Barbie dolls again. How she had hers in punk looking clothes, and mine were fancy. That was how it always seemed to be, me the organized, homework OCD freak, and her the punk, unafraid to try new things, willing to take a step up girl. We were so different it seemed like we had to be friends.
Oh, God.
How am I going to deal with this?
Not now, I thought, definitely not now. I want to sleep. I have to sleep.
I closed my eyes and clenched my body tight, not even moving when I had an itch on my leg. I ignored everything, ignored the world. And to some great miracle, I fell asleep.
In my dreams, I dreamt I was drowning, the water pushing me this way and that. I pushed my hands outwards trying to fight the current. I looked down and froze.
I was drowning.
But I was on fire.