teenage tragedy (Max Mayfield)

1. one

"Some people say the world will end in fire. Others say it'll end in ice," the man smiled at the little girl as he tucked her into bed.

The little looked up at him, green eyes shining brightly under messy blonde hair. He smoothed it out of the way, tucking it behind her ears.

"Why fire and ice?" she asked.

"It's a poem," he said.

"Tell me?" she said.

"Okay. Some people say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favour fire. But if I had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that, for destruction, ice is also great and would suffice," he said.

She stared at him for a few seconds.

"I don't understand. Fire hurts. Ice would not," she said.

"Ice would hurt in a different way. But it's not about whether you'd rather die in ice or fire. It's a metaphor," he said.

"A metaphor?" she repeated.

"You know," he chuckled, standing up and tucking the blankets around her, "It's too far past your bedtime for me to explain the english language to you tonight," he said.

She grinned up at him, showing two missing teeth on her top row. He grinned back down, ruffling her choppy hair.

"Getting long, now," he said.

"To my shoulders!" she said, touching the blonde locks against her shoulders. The man leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then tucked her in again.

"Goodnight, T," he said.

"Goodnight," she said.

He turned her bedside table lamp off and turned to leave. He stopped, however, eyes resting on the window.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up in the bed.

"Get my phone and call 911, ask them for the fire service. Tell them we live at 590 Almond Drive and that our house is on fire," he said, motioning to the phone on the bedside table.

"But we're not on fire," she said.

"We're about to be," he muttered.

She grabbed the phone and pressed 911, waiting for the call to connect.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Our house is on fire," she said, kneeling on the bed to look out of the window.

"Where do you live?"

"590 Almond Drive."

"Okay, and are you out of the house?"

"No."

"Hang up," the man muttered.

The little girl ended the call, putting his phone on the bedside table. She stood up and looked out of the window, jaw dropping when she saw what was happening outside.

Papa was stood there, a grin on his face as he stared at the man. The man looked at the little girl.

"Stay in here. I'll be back," he said.

"What about-"

"Stay here," he hissed.

She sat back down on the bed, chewing her fingernails as he left the room. She heard his footsteps thudding on the stairs, then the bang of the kitchen door being opened. She heard liquid moving around inside of something, then liquid being poured on the floor.