The Fire

by Nicholas

Feeling the heat grow beneath me, I knew this time I'd lost all control. And that my childhood innocence was now in lift with the red ambers, ebbing upwards into the October sky. Grasping sand from the side of the road I ran against the smoke bellowing out from the woods. Aware of the danger, my skin became second. I'd scared the land with my thoughtless action, and I was in for my own penance. Engulfed by the thick smoke, my vision was now gone. I could only hear the flames slashing against the chilling winds. Holding my sand tightly I threw it blindly, trying not to breath nor open my eyes. It was a match in an ocean, and it was all I had. Tears began to fall while I ran out of the smoke for air. I fought against the flames longer, with everything in me. But with every cough, tear, and burn I felt my own salvation slipping away like the sand from my hands. Running towards my bike, inexcusable shame ran through my veins. Knowing I was leaving my problem, and mine alone. Riding up the street towards home, a man then shouted towards me from his door step. I didn't stop. He'd said something about 911, rattling my tarnished skin but comforting my soul, just knowing it would be extinguished. Home was far, 2 miles and I was visible affected by flames. My clothing was singed along with my hair; and I was blanketed in gray ash. I'd forgotten about the fire house! It came to me as I reached the corner in which it was located. And as if God was against me, when passing the station the alarms began to scream against the town's common silence. They may have noticed a crisp looking 12 year old boy frantically struggling to ride his bicycle down the street, but I didn't see them trying to contact me in anyway. Once I arrived home I took my cloths off immediately in the garage and put them in the trash. Running towards the bathroom smelling of a blown out candle and covered in ash, no one saw me. Then I took a shower till I finally completed washing off the remnants of an inferno. I headed directly to my room after, with no intent of confrontation with anyone. My mother was in the kitchen though, and it was inevitable that she's see me, my room being beyond there. She picked my scent up like a dog. Instantly interrogating me of smoking, but I denied the idea strongly saying "I was helping Russell clean out his old woodstove", an old friend down the street. Once her suspicions were settled and I was released, I head to my room and just to stare upwards at the ceiling with the lights off. Hours passed and I thought the biggest consequences were over with now. And finally my muscles loosened and I could close my eyes. Then I heard the knock.

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