The wailing of sirens sliced through the night's ringing silence. A silence that could have been peaceful, but for the house on flames.


I had stared, numb, as a couple of paramedics checked my body for injuries.


The blast of water from the firetruck had done zilch to quench the fire at first. It just kept on burning and burning. Something crashed inside, and the fire glowed brighter.


Sure, my stuff was burning in there. It would be hard to start a new collection of DC figurines, but that wasn't what froze me by the feet when I stepped into the front yard, minutes after a neighbor had called the fire department.


While I'd just helplessly stared at the burning house.


My parents were in there, and they hadn't been found.


A hesitant 'yet' came into mind.


A suited fireman had put on a gasmask and gone in, and, might I just input that he's a really good hope-crusher.


But my mind had pretty much resolved to that ending already.


"Captain! I've looked everywhere, and even if someone is in there, they didn't survive."


Something snapped.


I'd known they wouldn't survive. I'd known since I arrived and saw the flames had already engulfed every part of the house. Yet still, something snapped.


And I ran.


For the burning door.
It was so unexpected, they just stared, confused at first.


"No... No! Hey, kid! what is he doing?!"


I was two steps away from the door.


Two more strides, and I'd be free from the incoming feeling of grief. I wouldn't have to be at a funeral, because I'd be with them. I wouldn't have to live with sleepless nights, fake condolences, homework...


I wouldn't have to live, period.


But I was yanked back from that first attempt at suicide, and man, did I hate that.


I squirmed in the person's grip, struggling to be free and rid myself of the pending hell of mourning.
It took me a while to realize it was Cyrene, my sister.


She held me tight against her chest, squishing my lungs.


"Danté, stay with me. I cannot lose you too,"


Her tears wet my hair, and I relaxed my arms. I stopped pushing her away and they limply hung at my sides.


It suddenly occured to me that I wasn't crying. Why wasn't I crying? My parents were dead and I was overflowing with remorse. And yet I wasn't crying. It was odd. I wanted to cry. But, no tears.


"Miss, please you're gonna have to back away from the house." A fireman came up to us and said.


Cyrene sniffed, smiling as she always does. Except this time, I could see through the mask. "Y-yes, okay."


She gently pulled me along with her. We got two steps away when the man called, "Wait. I'm- uh, I'm sorry for your loss."


That's what they all say. I rolled my eyes.



Cyrene flashed him a small smile, "It's okay. We'll be fine."


Will we though?


"I hope so," He smiled back.


And I did not like how this conversation was extending. I suddenly felt like running back to the fire.


Cyrene had sat me down in the back of the ambulance, a blanket wrapped around my body.


She'd talked to a paramedic, who asked a lot of questions about me, probably weirded out by my little stunt.


My hand sneaked into my hoodie pocket and pulled out a doll. Sighing in relief that I was able to save it, I squeezed it in my hand.


I stared at its simplicity. A sewn doll, light caramel-colored fabric skin, long, wavy black yarn as hair that touched its shoulders, small green oval beads were in the place of eyes and, small black thread as lips in a passive frown.


It was a gift to me on my last birthday; something they made with their own two hands to match my own looks perfectly.


The last piece of them I have left, besides my sister, that is. I glanced at her and saw she was talking to the fireman from before.


Then I looked back at my doll, clutching it tighter.


© 2023 by ravenizcul