Never The Same Again
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Olivia Johnson, Grade 6
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Short Story
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2015
The smoke swirls vigorously around my limp body, filling my weak lungs. I weakly clutch my sleeve, using all my strength. I hear a pounding in my head. I try to get up, but unsuccessfully flop onto the floor. I inhale desperately, trying to yell for help. I let out a vibrating croak. The sweat on my forehead is flowing out like a river. My stomach churns, like a million Eagles trying to bust out of my body. I attempt to stand up again, but my eyes sting and the growing pain in my chest is unbearable. I hear a distant wailing of sirens , praying that they have seen the roaring open flames, shooting into the atmosphere, letting of sprays of ash, like confetti. The sirens wailing is growing louder, and the distant pounding in my head is now a merciless roar. The sting in my eyes is now a burn, and my body blisters with bumps and rashes. I cough uncontrollably, waiting to be rescued. Then, the sirens stop. The pain stops. The pounding in my head stops. Everything stops.
A loud beeping fills my ears. I attempt to sit up in a panic. Where am I? Why am I here?
I can't move. A cold hand grabs my arm. I weakly look across, realising I'm in a hospital bed.
"Mum?" I whisper. Something snaps in my head I remember everything, the stove I left on, then the smoke, slowly intruding into my room from under the door, the locked windows, then the pain, the sirens, then complete blackness.
A pain of guilt punches my stomach, I just burnt down my own house.
I am too dehydrated to cry.
I hear the doctor saying something about a fire, grafts, but I can't concentrate on him. I burnt my own house down. I almost died.