I had been dreaming of a campfire. It was a nice dream. Each aspect seemed so real. The crackle of the fire, the smell of the smoke, even the heat. But it didn't seem long before the crackle became a roar, the smell burned my lungs with each breath, and the heat became unbearable.
It had never been so hard to open my eyes. The discomforts grew, but my body refused to move. When it felt like branding irons were being applied to my feet, I watched as my childhood stuffed animal was devoured in a brillant show of yellow and orange. My entire room was bathed in a flickering orange light. I didn’t move.
Maybe it wasn't my body refusing to listen to my commands. Maybe I just wasn't giving them. I watched the flames eagerly climb the wall beside my bed. My first grade class had done fire drills before. Once, firefighters came to the school with a small house on a trailer. They packed the whole class inside and went over fire prevention techniques and “Stop, drop, and roll!” They told us they had a big surprise for us, “We are going to fill this whole house with fake smoke,” they said, “You will all have to crawl out, just like a real fire!” They turned on the smoke machine and cut the lights. Kids started screaming, some were crying, this one kid fell over and almost got trampled. I sat there and watched. I watched as the kids were pulled out by the adults. I watched as the crying ones were carried out. I watched as the room filled with fake smoke. It curled and moved around everyone. So thick it was almost like water.
Out of the smoke I saw the kindest blue eyes, they even had the little wrinkles around the edges, “Do you need help?” I shook my head, I wasn't afraid, or hurt. I liked it here watching the light shine through the currents of smoke.
I was calm.
There, with my house burning down all around me. I was still calm. My bed was warm. The air was thick with the smoke I so desperately wanted to watch. Even as the flames blossomed on my bed, I never moved. If i would have moved, even just a finger, it would have been toward the flames. Just to hold in my hand the red flower that no one else dared. Just to watch as that beautiful smoke came from me, as it would soon enough.
My subconscious must have called out to those blue eyes, because there they were again, more wrinkled, but the same kindness shown through. They lifted me from the bed before a flame had touched me. “Do you need help?” they asked.
Yes, I think this time I need help.433Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLxXujAh3ZH
