Bound to Earth

8: I Don't Bottle Up Emotions

The heat of a wood beam pressed heavily on my chest. Every breath was agonizingly painful as the weight shifted along my body, crushing me further. I couldn't move, couldn't speak.

I wished the crackling of flame was the only thing I could hear. But the high pitched wails outmatched the soft sizzling and any pain running through my body.

My children.

I cracked my eyes open enough to see my once pale skin dark with soot, blood. My other arm was pinned beneath me, throbbing. I needed to move, get the children.

There was only one pair of lungs I could hear.

My entire body shook with the effort I put into moving my arm. The air grew hotter, thicker by the second. I wheezed. Thick dark blood sprayed the floor beneath me.

Soft pitter-pattering drew nearer. Footsteps. Someone was going to help me. My children would live. Another wood beam gave out a few meters away from where I laid. 

The wailing stopped. This time, the only thing I could hear was the crackling of the fire.

Somehow, my lungs mustered enough strength for the scream that tore my throat. I didn't have to see to know they were gone—my children, my husband. I was alone.

A cold frail hand gripped mine, tugging. I look to see a child, no more than 15, tugging my arm. I didn't move. 

"Please. You have to help me, I can't move you myself." She sobbed, tugging with all her might. She was no match for the weight of my house, not in the state she was in. 

Her shoes, missing, along with pieces of her clothes. There were cuts everywhere, a few of her nails shredded. Blood ran down the side of her head, dripping down her chin. One large gash slit her abdomen open, flesh dangled to reveal the gore under. Her skin peeled and oozed in patches all over her body from the burns.

"I can't. You have to help me, please." The desperation in her voice was unbearable.

I squeezed her hand with what little strength I had. I needed to be strong for a little longer, enough time to get this girl out of here. "Leave. Go. Find people who will help you, child."

She pulled harder. Her beautiful eyes, a swirling mix of fuchsia and violet ribbons, glistened. "No please, I can't do this alone. My family is gone. I can't be alone. Please don't leave me."

I had nothing left to live for, but this small thing—child—did, and not for long with the flames inching closer. The rest of my house would collapse with her in it. Her kind would be the saviors of our world.

"It's too late for me, child. Go." I tried pushing her away.

She shook her head, whipping vigorously at her eyes. "No. Please. I don't want to be alone again."

I smiled at her. She reminded me of my youngest son—compassionate. "You will never be alone, not as long as you remember." I pinched her skin, trying to get her to leave. "There are others who will need your help. Don't waste your life here. Go. Live." 

She staggered back until her tiny body was out of reach from the house. Then she sat there and waited, tears pouring down her face. She no longer whipped them away. The only lighting illuminating her face was from the fires surrounding her. The sky completely darkened within minutes despite the sun already rising on a clear summer day.

"Go," I whispered. She was too young to whiteness death.

The frail girl ignored my words and continued to sit and watch, face twisted with emotion. 

Another crack and weight slammed on my legs, burning my skin and crushing the bones. Nothing in the universe could stop the screams burning my lungs, tearing my vocal cords.