It started with the drapes. Or the 'curtains' as my mother would say. I thought I could put it out and I tried but it got too big, too fast, and it took over everything. I watched the couch burn like it was made of plastic. I watched the table and our books go up in flames. It was hot and humid and smoky and it looked so bad and so awful. I got scared. I ran out into the garage, but then I remembered that you would have tried to save me. I know you would. So I went back in.
I ran up the stairs. I ran through fire for you, just like some dumb country song. But it was too late. When I got to your room and looked through the smoke your bed was in flames. I wonder if you screamed and I didn't hear you. Oh, God. The black shape of you on the bed. And the melting of everything. Your hand lying perfectly still like nothing had happened. And your face.
Your face is what keeps me up at night.
¶ 11:24 AM
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