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Description
In the Flames

The only words running through my head were, this can't be real! It can't!

Mom!

Dad!

There was nothing else in the world except for me and the yellow-orange mass where my house used to be. I heard someone screaming like crazy for their parents, and realized it was my voice. I kept running towards the fire, the heat of summer and flames burning my skin, my face, my eyes. My lungs screamed for air long before I knew how much smoke I was in. My hands were claws as I ran, trying to reach for something other than fire, only a few feet in front of me.

Suddenly my body snapped forward, held back by something at my waist. I screamed louder and tried to climb over the arm that held me back, but they were faster. They pulled me into a tall, strong body, holding my waist and dragging me away.

"No! NO! Don't do this, I have to save them! My parents are still in there! Let me go! Please!!" I cried out, my throat raw from the smoke and screaming.

The man set me down on the lawn, as far away from my burning home as possible. I made to scramble around him but he put his heavy hands on my shoulders.

I stopped my cries for a moment to look at him. Through the visor he had brown eyes and hair. He looked determined, and I knew he was strong enough to keep me there.

I looked at him, pleadingly. "Please," I croaked. "My parents are in there. If I can't get them out then you at least have to try."

I couldn't read his face as he looked me over. "We we're called about this fire 15 minutes ago. The caller said that there was a loud noise followed by crackling. After a few minutes they checked to see why the noise was continuing. By that time, the house was ablaze."

My face had fallen a little more with each word, my eyes becoming more and more desperate. No, my mind spoke. No. No no no no no no no. That can't be right, it can't be true.

He looked at me as the emotions broke over my face. And as he watched me, his face became crestfallen. "Miss," he whispered, eyes watering and his face trembling with sorrow. "I'm so sorry. They're gone. I'm so, so sorry."

They're gone. They're gone.

The words echoed in my head, so crisp and clear while the rest of my world fell apart. The bottomless pit of dread in my stomach dropped even lower, and cold washed over me. I couldn't accept it, but in the back of my mind I knew it was true.

"But . . . they can't be," my voice quavered as I stared into his face for an answer. He looked like he was about to break from watching me. "They can't be. I said goodnight to them. I just said . . . goodnight. . ."

I don't remember when I started crying but suddenly my face was wet with tears. And once I noticed them I couldn't force them away. I cried harder than I could ever remember, calling out my parent's names, and that I was sorry, and that I loved them.

The fireman held me in a gruff hug as I reached over his shoulders at the flames. I felt his body shuddering under mine but I never heard him utter a sound; then again, maybe he did and I couldn't hear him over myself.

Within minutes my throat had rebelled until I felt it would rupture if I even whispered. I could taste smoke in my mouth and salt when I licked my cracked lips. My eyes were puffy and tired from crying so much. I had sat limp in the man's arms after the fire had been put out, reduced to a smoking lump. Parts of rooms were left with beams and some roof, but everything was gone.

After the firemen went in, they said something to me. I got up and my feet pulled me forward. All I knew was that they'd given me permission to look for whatever I wanted in the house. I combed through what used to be my living room, kitchen, bedroom, and parent's bedroom. In a shattered frame I found a half burned picture of the three of us together. I took it out and pressed it to my chest, shaking in silent sobs. Tucking it into my pocket I walked out of what used to be my home.

I couldn't take it anymore, I had to get out. I fell to my knees on the grass outside, covering my face with my hands. My body shook as I cried, trying to pull in air from the smoke.

"We found this in the rubble," a man's voice said, offering something to me.

It was a shoe box. I pulled the charred box open to reveal a pair of glorious soccer cleats. At least, they'd been glorious at one point. The fire had gotten to them. If I looked closely I could see where it had burned away the paint that had spelled out Foxx on the side of each cleat. What wasn't burned still had the sleek look of the expensive black and silver shoes.

It was the shoes that I'd asked my parents for my 16th birthday – a week from now. I couldn't imagine how long they'd saved up for them, and now they were completely ruined. Pathetically, I shuddered as I stared at the shoes, brushing them with my hand. After a few moments with them the firemen took them away for evidence. I doubted they would get much out of the half-gone shoes.

"Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?" the fireman who held me back asked politely.

I stared blankly into his face. I couldn't think of anything, so my subconscious took over. "Yes, I'll leave for my friend's house tonight."

"Will they be taking over as your guardians?"

I thought for a second. "Possibly. I don't know yet, but I'm sure she'd be open to it."

He nodded, accepting my poor answer. I was baffled at how he believed it so easily – I had no idea what or who I was talking about. "We would salvage what we could from the house, but . . . there's not much left," he said quietly.

My throat tightened impossibly. There was no more water left in my body yet my eyes still wanted to cry. I forced the emotion into the pit of my stomach before croaking out, "Ah, I see. Thank you, for trying your best."

He gave me a sad smile and went back to a fire truck. I stood against my car, the bag at my feet as I got lost looking at my house. Someone had said that there'd been a small gas explosion. Of all things that made me feel a little at ease – since it had probably happened because one of them was making a midnight snack, at least they'd been killed instantly instead of slowly burning.

The thought made me want to vomit but I kept my mouth locked down. After a while someone came over, spouting something about a funeral. I blanked out and my subconscious took over again. When it was done, I had a small funeral on Tuesday to be at in the local cemetery. Since there were no bodies, only a handful of ash would be set under their headstone. I could only afford one but I was comforted in the fact that even in death they'd be with each other.

I sat in the grass, watching the men work when another person came up to me. I hardly even registered them, but they didn't seem keen to let me forget them.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Kempt. How do you feel right now?" she asked briskly.

"How do you think I feel?" I answered hollowly. There was fast movement from where she was but I ignored it. "My parents just died in a fire, and I have no home. Take your best guess."

"Do you know what caused the fire?"

I shrugged tiredly. "Some sort of explosion."

"And how come you weren't in your house at the time?" she prodded.

My subconscious took over easily. "I went out running for a bit. It's never cool enough during the day, so I go out at night to run at the park."

"How do you think your parents would feel about you being away at the moment of their demise?" Ice drove through me and I fixed her with a warning glare. "Did they know you were out, or did you sneak out?"

I slowly stood up, tired muscles tensing. Now I saw that the quick movements were from her scribbling on a notepad – a reporter. Really?, I thought disgustedly. I just lost my parents, you bitch, and all you can think is that it'll make a great story.

"I think you should leave," I warned, threats ringing in my tone. She was taller and bigger than me and probably not as tired, but if she kept badgering me then I'd get vicious. "Right now."

"Why's that?" she asked challengingly, pen poised to take more notes. I wondered how she'd note the pain of a punch.

"Ma'am, I need to ask you to leave," one of the working men called out as he walked over. Instantly the reporter deflated. The two talked for a little and she left looking like a kicked dog. "I'm sorry about that," he said as he looked at me. "I figured that at four in the morning no one would come by to bother you."

"Yeah, well I guess I'm just that interesting," I croaked weakly. His face broke out a sympathetic smile before leaving. And I was left alone again that night.

The dread and fear from the night were long gone, but the emptiness settling in my stomach where they used to be was worse; it was worse because I knew there was no possibility of things being okay.

Opening the trunk of my car to throw my belly dance bag in, I saw that I had left my soccer bag in as well. I felt some relief when I realized I wouldn't have to buy all new gear. I thanked my excitement of that day; had I not been obsessed with my up coming dance I would've brought it inside like normal. I knew my school bag was in the backseat because with no homework there was no need to bring it inside.

I sat in the driver's seat, keys in hand, as people milled about my home. Some were starting to leave but others were breaking out tools to clean up the mess. They would expect me to be leaving soon to go to my 'friend's' house, yet I felt like I would never be able to go.

A fireman – the same one that stopped me from running into the flames – tapped lightly on the windshield with an uneasy smile. I rolled down my window. "You should probably head over to you friend's house. Stay here much longer and they might not be able to get back to sleep."

Sleep. That's right. No wonder I was so tired. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to sleep again, but at least he'd given me the cure for tiredness.

"Okay," I said blankly, turning on my car. "Thank you again for doing what you could. I'm sure my parents would appreciate it, and I know I do."

He smiled weakly. "Yes ma'am, thank you. Have a good night."

I returned the goodbye and pulled away, but I had no idea where I was going. I drove aimlessly for a few minutes before stopping next to the park. I'd come here with my parents all the time when we first moved. I sighed sadly, the huge hole of losing something settling in my heart.

-O-

I would never forget that day. It was the best and worst night of my life. I had never been happier after getting off the stage, and I'd never felt more beautiful. But on July 19th, 3:17 Sunday morning a gas explosion tore through my house, killing my parents instantly and burning the house to the ground.

The only reason I was saved was because I was at the club, dancing the dace of heat, passion, and of fire.

-X-

Description
In the Flames

The only words running through my head were, this can't be real! It can't!

Mom!

Dad!

There was nothing else in the world except for me and the yellow-orange mass where my house used to be. I heard someone screaming like crazy for their parents, and realized it was my voice. I kept running towards the fire, the heat of summer and flames burning my skin, my face, my eyes. My lungs screamed for air long before I knew how much smoke I was in. My hands were claws as I ran, trying to reach for something other than fire, only a few feet in front of me.

Suddenly my body snapped forward, held back by something at my waist. I screamed louder and tried to climb over the arm that held me back, but they were faster. They pulled me into a tall, strong body, holding my waist and dragging me away.

"No! NO! Don't do this, I have to save them! My parents are still in there! Let me go! Please!!" I cried out, my throat raw from the smoke and screaming.

The man set me down on the lawn, as far away from my burning home as possible. I made to scramble around him but he put his heavy hands on my shoulders.

I stopped my cries for a moment to look at him. Through the visor he had brown eyes and hair. He looked determined, and I knew he was strong enough to keep me there.

I looked at him, pleadingly. "Please," I croaked. "My parents are in there. If I can't get them out then you at least have to try."

I couldn't read his face as he looked me over. "We we're called about this fire 15 minutes ago. The caller said that there was a loud noise followed by crackling. After a few minutes they checked to see why the noise was continuing. By that time, the house was ablaze."

My face had fallen a little more with each word, my eyes becoming more and more desperate. No, my mind spoke. No. No no no no no no no. That can't be right, it can't be true.

He looked at me as the emotions broke over my face. And as he watched me, his face became crestfallen. "Miss," he whispered, eyes watering and his face trembling with sorrow. "I'm so sorry. They're gone. I'm so, so sorry."

They're gone. They're gone.

The words echoed in my head, so crisp and clear while the rest of my world fell apart. The bottomless pit of dread in my stomach dropped even lower, and cold washed over me. I couldn't accept it, but in the back of my mind I knew it was true.

"But . . . they can't be," my voice quavered as I stared into his face for an answer. He looked like he was about to break from watching me. "They can't be. I said goodnight to them. I just said . . . goodnight. . ."

I don't remember when I started crying but suddenly my face was wet with tears. And once I noticed them I couldn't force them away. I cried harder than I could ever remember, calling out my parent's names, and that I was sorry, and that I loved them.

The fireman held me in a gruff hug as I reached over his shoulders at the flames. I felt his body shuddering under mine but I never heard him utter a sound; then again, maybe he did and I couldn't hear him over myself.

Within minutes my throat had rebelled until I felt it would rupture if I even whispered. I could taste smoke in my mouth and salt when I licked my cracked lips. My eyes were puffy and tired from crying so much. I had sat limp in the man's arms after the fire had been put out, reduced to a smoking lump. Parts of rooms were left with beams and some roof, but everything was gone.

After the firemen went in, they said something to me. I got up and my feet pulled me forward. All I knew was that they'd given me permission to look for whatever I wanted in the house. I combed through what used to be my living room, kitchen, bedroom, and parent's bedroom. In a shattered frame I found a half burned picture of the three of us together. I took it out and pressed it to my chest, shaking in silent sobs. Tucking it into my pocket I walked out of what used to be my home.

I couldn't take it anymore, I had to get out. I fell to my knees on the grass outside, covering my face with my hands. My body shook as I cried, trying to pull in air from the smoke.

"We found this in the rubble," a man's voice said, offering something to me.

It was a shoe box. I pulled the charred box open to reveal a pair of glorious soccer cleats. At least, they'd been glorious at one point. The fire had gotten to them. If I looked closely I could see where it had burned away the paint that had spelled out Foxx on the side of each cleat. What wasn't burned still had the sleek look of the expensive black and silver shoes.

It was the shoes that I'd asked my parents for my 16th birthday – a week from now. I couldn't imagine how long they'd saved up for them, and now they were completely ruined. Pathetically, I shuddered as I stared at the shoes, brushing them with my hand. After a few moments with them the firemen took them away for evidence. I doubted they would get much out of the half-gone shoes.

"Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?" the fireman who held me back asked politely.

I stared blankly into his face. I couldn't think of anything, so my subconscious took over. "Yes, I'll leave for my friend's house tonight."

"Will they be taking over as your guardians?"

I thought for a second. "Possibly. I don't know yet, but I'm sure she'd be open to it."

He nodded, accepting my poor answer. I was baffled at how he believed it so easily – I had no idea what or who I was talking about. "We would salvage what we could from the house, but . . . there's not much left," he said quietly.

My throat tightened impossibly. There was no more water left in my body yet my eyes still wanted to cry. I forced the emotion into the pit of my stomach before croaking out, "Ah, I see. Thank you, for trying your best."

He gave me a sad smile and went back to a fire truck. I stood against my car, the bag at my feet as I got lost looking at my house. Someone had said that there'd been a small gas explosion. Of all things that made me feel a little at ease – since it had probably happened because one of them was making a midnight snack, at least they'd been killed instantly instead of slowly burning.

The thought made me want to vomit but I kept my mouth locked down. After a while someone came over, spouting something about a funeral. I blanked out and my subconscious took over again. When it was done, I had a small funeral on Tuesday to be at in the local cemetery. Since there were no bodies, only a handful of ash would be set under their headstone. I could only afford one but I was comforted in the fact that even in death they'd be with each other.

I sat in the grass, watching the men work when another person came up to me. I hardly even registered them, but they didn't seem keen to let me forget them.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Kempt. How do you feel right now?" she asked briskly.

"How do you think I feel?" I answered hollowly. There was fast movement from where she was but I ignored it. "My parents just died in a fire, and I have no home. Take your best guess."

"Do you know what caused the fire?"

I shrugged tiredly. "Some sort of explosion."

"And how come you weren't in your house at the time?" she prodded.

My subconscious took over easily. "I went out running for a bit. It's never cool enough during the day, so I go out at night to run at the park."

"How do you think your parents would feel about you being away at the moment of their demise?" Ice drove through me and I fixed her with a warning glare. "Did they know you were out, or did you sneak out?"

I slowly stood up, tired muscles tensing. Now I saw that the quick movements were from her scribbling on a notepad – a reporter. Really?, I thought disgustedly. I just lost my parents, you bitch, and all you can think is that it'll make a great story.

"I think you should leave," I warned, threats ringing in my tone. She was taller and bigger than me and probably not as tired, but if she kept badgering me then I'd get vicious. "Right now."

"Why's that?" she asked challengingly, pen poised to take more notes. I wondered how she'd note the pain of a punch.

"Ma'am, I need to ask you to leave," one of the working men called out as he walked over. Instantly the reporter deflated. The two talked for a little and she left looking like a kicked dog. "I'm sorry about that," he said as he looked at me. "I figured that at four in the morning no one would come by to bother you."

"Yeah, well I guess I'm just that interesting," I croaked weakly. His face broke out a sympathetic smile before leaving. And I was left alone again that night.

The dread and fear from the night were long gone, but the emptiness settling in my stomach where they used to be was worse; it was worse because I knew there was no possibility of things being okay.

Opening the trunk of my car to throw my belly dance bag in, I saw that I had left my soccer bag in as well. I felt some relief when I realized I wouldn't have to buy all new gear. I thanked my excitement of that day; had I not been obsessed with my up coming dance I would've brought it inside like normal. I knew my school bag was in the backseat because with no homework there was no need to bring it inside.

I sat in the driver's seat, keys in hand, as people milled about my home. Some were starting to leave but others were breaking out tools to clean up the mess. They would expect me to be leaving soon to go to my 'friend's' house, yet I felt like I would never be able to go.

A fireman – the same one that stopped me from running into the flames – tapped lightly on the windshield with an uneasy smile. I rolled down my window. "You should probably head over to you friend's house. Stay here much longer and they might not be able to get back to sleep."

Sleep. That's right. No wonder I was so tired. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to sleep again, but at least he'd given me the cure for tiredness.

"Okay," I said blankly, turning on my car. "Thank you again for doing what you could. I'm sure my parents would appreciate it, and I know I do."

He smiled weakly. "Yes ma'am, thank you. Have a good night."

I returned the goodbye and pulled away, but I had no idea where I was going. I drove aimlessly for a few minutes before stopping next to the park. I'd come here with my parents all the time when we first moved. I sighed sadly, the huge hole of losing something settling in my heart.

-O-

I would never forget that day. It was the best and worst night of my life. I had never been happier after getting off the stage, and I'd never felt more beautiful. But on July 19th, 3:17 Sunday morning a gas explosion tore through my house, killing my parents instantly and burning the house to the ground.

The only reason I was saved was because I was at the club, dancing the dace of heat, passion, and of fire.

-X-