I can’t find my mama.
The fire rages, burning everything before me. Ash coats my tongue into a thick, dry mess. The heat overwhelms my small body, the inferno singing my young skin.
I crawl to the door as fast as my knees will take me. Mama always told me to stay low in case of a fire and find the door. Hand to the wall, I hold fast to the smooth plaster, the cold stone heating as I move. The terracotta tiles beneath my knees start to crack from the heat, pricks and cuts slicing into my legs. I barely feel it, focused on my escape.
I can’t see anything over the smoke, too thick, too heavy that my home is nothing but a dark blur. I can’t hear over the crackling and hissing flames as they roar like lions in my ears.
Where is Mama?
I follow the wall to the corner, where the front door comes into view. The flames haven’t reached here yet, but they’re coming. They lick at my toes, ready to devour me and everything else into their fiery chaos.
I cough, soot covering my throat and lungs. It’s hot and acidic, scorching my tongue, drying my mouth. I can’t breathe, too much heat and not enough clean air. I grab the handle as sharp pain blisters my fingers. It’s hot. Flesh melts against the metal, searing it to the spot, gluing it like an art project, even as I try to tug away. A scream leaves my lips but it’s swallowed whole as the roof crashes in.
The house shakes as walls follow. Soon, everything will collapse and I’ll be stuck in the middle. I have to get out, leave these flames, and get fresh air.
My short ten years of life, filled with love and heartache, of running in the front yard and of listening to the sounds of crickets are nothing more than reduced ashes and burnt fabrics. Piles of debris and forgotten dreams line the walls, surrendering to the harsh flames.
The building whines as if mourning my loss with me.
This was the home I was born in, the house where my sister was born, too. The home my father left one night and never came back.
I search the dark smoke one more time, praying I see Mama and Annalise. They have to be here, they have to get out with me.
I can’t find them, though and the smoke is too much. The lick of flames against my flesh tells me, I have very little time left. I need to find them but I have to get out. If I don’t, I won’t make it out alive.
I have to trust they got to safety.
Grabbing the handle again, I ignore the intense pain that radiates up my forearms. Such pain that I double over, screaming as I turn the handle, pushing through the shock and fatigue. I can’t surrender to the pain, I have to get out – I have to find Mama.
The door barely swings open as thoughts of my mother and sister fill my mind. Would Annalise know not to breathe in the smoke? She’s only two, a baby still. Did Mama wake up and get her to safety? She has been taking those sleeping pills at night. She doesn’t rouse so easily in the mornings.
Hesitation halts me at the door, a crack of fresh air slipping in. I should go back and look. I should find them—
Two strong hands grab my shoulders, suddenly, yanking me from the inferno into the cool summer air. Charred flakes of wood drift over my face like dancing red fireflies in the night sky, as I feel hands patting my sides and arms. Everywhere they touch, the heat recedes and I sigh quietly, relief cooling my brow even as everything stings with the sudden bite of cold.
“My god,” the voice breathes. I cough, trying to stare into a face hovering over mine. My sight is blurry though, shapes mangled. There are only the faint shadows and the red haze of the fire at my feet that I can make out clearly. “Lex, is that you?”
“Zio?” My voice is rough and cracked, burnt right along with my home. My throat feels as if I swallowed the flames, melting my vocal cords. Everything hurts. Everywhere stings. Where’s Mama? She should be here. “Zio Nico?”
“Yes, Lex, it’s me. You’re safe now. Just hold on, my boy.”
My uncle pulls me into a hard embrace but I shriek, a sudden banshee of a wail. My body hurts, skin ripping. I contort, shouting against the raw feeling of every nerve on fire.
Even as everything pains me, I push against Nico’s warm embrace, forcing my eyes to open and scan the dark yard. I can’t see anything.
“Where’s Mama?” I need to find her. Where is my sister? They have to be out here.
My body shakes uncontrollably, but I ignore it. The heat is turning into a warm glow, the cold night sending a fresh wave of agony to torment me.
I’m burned, that much I know. I just don’t care. If I could just see them, hear my mother’s voice, everything would be better. I would be better.
“Lex, calm down,” Zio says in Italian, American accent flavoring the words. He tries to grab me again but I shout, yanking away. His hands feel like tiny knives, cutting into my sensitive skin.
Shoving off the ground, I try to stand, willing my body to move. My legs falter, my arms shake; I can’t move.
Under me, my vision clears just enough to see splatters of blood. Of a torn white shirt and ripped blue pajama bottoms. My chest is charcoal black, my hands nothing more than dripping flesh, bits of bone and singed, flapping skin.
The sight doesn’t register into my muddled, pain-filled brain.
Nico grabs my face gently, running soothing thumbs over my furrowed brows, keeping my eyes up. Away from the gore.
I cough again, body failing, fight draining as his strong arms grab me. “Zio, I need to see them. Mama and Annalise? They’re out here. I know—”
“Hush, piccolo,” Nico calms, gently, lowering my upper body to the ground. His touch is feather light now, a drifting of fingers and chaste taps on my cheek.
Worried eyes peer down at me, but no words escape my flapping mouth. I don’t know what he sees when he looks, but it’s not good. He’s haunted, in shock, sickened. Because of how I look.
Nico keeps talking, his voice a low murmur of comfort I can’t quite make out. Everything’s starting to blur, slipping out of focus. I try to turn my head, to look to the left, to find my mother and sister. But my head doesn’t move, my body slowly sinking deeper into the soft grass. Even the pain is starting to drift away.
I try to say something, anything, to ask again where my family is, but Nico shakes his head, hushing me. “Rest, my boy. Rest. Everything will be better in the morning.”
I still want to look, to fight, to move. I want my mother’s soft touch; the smell of roses and jasmine, and I want to hear Annalise’s darling laugh. I need to make sure they’re okay, that they survived.
My body doesn’t agree. Soon, my eyes give into the pull of sleep and I drift away to the sounds of sirens in the distance.
