Hey guys.
I've changed my short story, Burned, from first person to third because I felt it gave me more options in this particular piece of writing. I've changed it and made it longer, and decided I'm using it as the beginning of a longer story. It's going to be a memory the girl dreams or thinks about, or an anecdote from her past, and then I'll continue the story with her as a fifteen or sixteen year old and how her life goes on then.
Hope you like it, please critique.
XxxDo
The strong smell of charring wood and melting plastic woke Amy from slumber. Glancing through half-closed eyes at the white wooden bedroom door she untangled her legs from the mess of blankets she’d kicked away during the night. Still drowsy she wiped her hair out of her face, feeling rather warm and uncomfortable.
What is going on, she wondered, did Daddy burn breakfast?
She stretched her limbs, stiff from hours of sleep, and went on to yawn. The stench wasn’t like anything she’d ever smelled before, she realized, and with a Daddy like hers, who knew little of cooking, she would have definitely been able to identify the stench of burnt food. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to clear her blurry vision and waited until her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. It can’t be morning yet, she decided, glancing at the dark window, so what is burning?
Light shone through the centimeter-wide crack between the wooden flooring and the door, flickering menacingly, alternating yellow and orange. She tilted her head to the right, confused, watching the playing light. Something hit the floor with a crash somewhere on the other side of her door, and she strained her ears, now able to make out the roar of the flames.
Amy sat up with a start, her heart racing as she understood that her house was on fire. Fear flashed through her, keeping her immobile for a few seconds before she dashed out of her small bed, the tangled pink blankets falling to the floor in her wake. Rushing to the door she nearly tripped over the scattered toys on the parquet below her bare feet, and stopped, watching the unstable shadows the flames cast around her room.
No one had ever told her what to do if something went wrong, and she was puzzled, unsure of the best way to approach the situation. She frowned, then reached forward and closed her petite hand around the iron doorknob. Her eyes widened when she understood her mistake, and she fell away from the glowing hot metal, screaming in pain.
The cry died down, and she sat silently, tears streaking her pale cheeks. She cradled her burned hand, the pain all too real, and opened her mouth to shout. “Daddy! Daddy!”
When his familiar voice failed to reply she quieted down, her tearful gaze on the door, the irregular waves of light illuminating her whole room. Held in a chokehold by the stinging waves of pain she remained where she was, sitting on the wooden floorboards, surrounded by toys that had been strewn about during playtime the day before.
She lifted her eyes to the bookshelves, eyeing the photo of her mother, Sandra. Amy knew she looked like her, with the same hair, eyes and nose, and, according to dad, the same considerate and kind nature. She didn’t care all that much about the similarities, because no matter how much she became like her mother, there was nothing that could bring Sandra back.
“Mommy…” Amy whimpered, then dropped her gaze to the palm of her hand, her eyes widening in shock. Blisters covered a large portion of her palm, the fingers and surrounding skin a deep, mean red that was almost crimson. The strong burning smell aggravated her nose, and she sneezed, her hand striking the floor in an uncontrollable reflex of movement. Her eyes clouded over in pain as she held her hurt hand to her chest, getting on her knees.
The stench was edging on unbearable, especially now that she could identify the new odor that lingered in the air, understanding that it was the stench of her smoldering flesh. Amy felt heat radiate from the blazing fire just outside her bedroom, and cowered, afraid that the heat would burn her more.
“Daddy!”
Smoke spiraled from beneath the door, and she lifted her eyes to follow the clouds of grey through the air. Where’s Daddy, she thought, why isn’t he coming to help me? She scrambled towards the window, mowing toys out of her way as she crawled, doing her best to hold her injured hand close to her side to keep it from striking anything else.
She got on her knees; then grabbed the windowsill with two hands and yelled in agony, releasing her right. She’d forgotten the injury for the split second it took to habitually reach out with both, and ruptured several of the blisters on the wooden ridge. She breathed shallow breaths, her lungs stinging, pain and fear growing inside her. She used her left hand to get to her feet and quickly brushed her messy blonde hair out of her face before she grabbed the window handle and yanked.
The window didn’t budge, and she tried a second time, failing again. She spun around, desperately searching for a way out, though she knew the door and window were the only options she had, and neither was available at the moment. The smoke thickened, darkening, and she banged her undamaged fist against the glass. “Help me! I can’t get out! Daddy! Daddy help me!”
Her cries didn’t bring about a response, and fear flashed through her stomach like a jolt of electricity. She coughed, the smoke stinging her nose and lungs as her legs buckled underneath her. Amy’s knees made painful contact with the floorboards, and she turned, leaning back against the wall. She pulled her knees up to her chest, circling her arms around it, huddling in the corner formed by her bed and the wall. Please find me, Daddy, she prayed, please, God, let Daddy find me.
The white door was kicked off its hinges with a loud crash, and the little girl blinked vigorously, the bright flames bathing her in orange light. A black silhouette was visible, outlined against the blazing background.
“Amy!” The figure rushed forward and kneeled before her. Her dad breathed heavily, his face and pajamas smudged and streaked with soot. He grabbed her shoulders, looking her up and down, his eyes wet with tears as he placed his hands on either side of his daughter’s face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
She nodded, comforted by her Daddy’s presence, and regretfully watched him leave her side. He stood, motionless, his gaze on the roaring flames outside her door. He could hardly believe what was happening, and shook his head, snapping himself out of his astonishment and back into the real world, where he had a little girl to rescue. He leaned over her, his strong hands grabbing the handle and forcing the window wide open. Fresh air rushed in, and he cursed, to his daughters shock, as the flames shot up higher, fed by the oxygen-rich outside air.
He leaned further, estimating the distance to the floor three stories below, then pulled back and kneeled before his daughter, slipping his arms around her. She winced as her blistered hand made contact with his shirt, and he set her down, surprised at her twisted face and running tears. He noticed the way she held her hand, and grabbed it carefully, turning it over.
“Amy… oh my god…”
She stammered. “The door was hot, Daddy.”
He embraced her, lifting her into his arms, allowing her to bury her face in his neck. She stared over his shoulder at the flames that licked the parquet, their heat reaching her skin.
“Hold on, Amy, as tight as you can.”
“Yes Daddy.” She whispered, hiding in his arms, feeling him get up. Her legs swung in mid-air, the airborne soles of her feet warmed by the heat of the inferno.
“I don’t want to go through the fire!” She sobbed, panicked, as he stepped slightly closer to the flames. Her hand ached madly, and she added a choked. “The fire hurts!”
“We’re not, just hold on sweetie.”
She peeked over his shoulder again and saw the door grow more distant as he walked to the window with brisk steps. “I love you, baby, always remember that I love you, okay?”
“Yes Daddy.”
Why does Daddy seem so scared? She thought, he’s like Superman, I know that he can get us out, so why is he worried?
Flames rushed in, devouring her bookshelves. She felt tears flow as the row of her favorite books lit up, the covers twisting and contorting, the pages charring. Her beloved Cinderella figurine toppled over, the plastic face melting, the dress flaming, until it vanished out of sight, enclosed completely by the raging flames.
“Mommy!” She had never screamed this loud before, and fought her Daddy’s grip, crying. He set her down, holding her back as she tried to make a run for the cupboard. He understood her panic, and grabbed her shoulders. “Stay put, Amy.”
He took large steps towards the cupboard, flames licking the underside of the wooden dresser as he narrowed his eyes to protect them from the heat. He reached out, his fingers closing around the single photograph, then stepped back, stuffing the picture in the pocket of his pajama pants. He rushed towards her and raised Amy back into his arms, whispering. “Close your eyes baby.”
She glanced up at her Daddy’s stubble beard, bewildered, then pressed her face against his shirt, her eyes shut.
“Are we gonna die, Daddy?”
“No,” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re not.”
Wind ripped through her hair, and her stomach turned, full of an unfamiliar sensation she found rather unsettling. She knew they were falling, the wind pulling at her pajamas and stinging her burned palm as she kicked her feet through the air, screaming. She clutched onto her Daddy, her fists holding the fabric of his shirt tight, and ignored the pain in her hand, dead set of not releasing her father.
With a loud thump and a sudden pressure on her chest that winded her they were at rest. She gasped air into her stinging lungs, her head full of unexpected pressure, and then coughed. Her face was cold in the night air, now lacking the heat of the flames. The smothering feeling dissipated, to her relief, and she continued to breathe steadily.
Her Daddy’s arms were still around her, and she was lying on top of him, she noted. She buried her face in his shirt, hearing the growl of the flames behind her. She’d fallen right on top of him, and realized she didn’t really hurt anywhere other than her hand. Someone grabbed her pajama top and pulled her off him, the fabric of his shirt hurting her tightly closed fingers as it began to slip from her grasp. Her gaze moved up, and she stared at him, shocked.
He was motionless, his eyes shut, his mouth slightly open. A red line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, sliding slowly to the grass below.
She reached out, no longer holding the shirt, then sobbed and struggles, twisting in the hands of whomever it was that was dragging her away. “Daddy!” She shouted, certain he’d open his eyes, jump up, run towards her and embrace her, certain he’d, at least, reply.
The kind and familiar voice of her neighbour, Mary, put her at ease, and she stopped struggling. “Amy, it’s okay, are you hurt?” She was set down on the grass, well away from the soaring flames that were swallowing her house, and shook her head slowly, then nodded. “My hand hurts.” She pouted, hearing people shout and run, and glanced in the direction of her Daddy, unable to see him. Several neighbours, in different states of dressing, one of them in nothing more than boxers, blocked her line of sight.
Sirens made her ears ring, and her jaw dropped when the fire trucks rushed into the street, screeching to a halt before the flaming ruins of her home. She’d never seen them from so close by before!
“Nothing feels broken?” Mary’s worried expression surprised Amy. “I’m okay!”
“Sit still.” Mary insisted, patting down Amy in a search for broken bones or cuts. She turned over Amy’s small hand and narrowed her eyes, her expression dismayed, but the little girl had more attention for the firefighters than anything else. The doors of the trucks were thrown open, and firemen went about their business, rapidly unrolling hoses and urging the worried neighbours away from the debris that dropped, flaming, from the cavity that used to be the roof. More trucks parked haphazardly on the grass, and an ambulance came to a halt only meters from Mary and Amy, a second braking on the other side of them.
Paramedics ran, kneeling beside the motionless body of her father, their assessing gazes scrutinizing the damaged house that threatened to topple onto them. Three of them lifted him onto a gurney, rushing him away from the danger zone, out of Amy’s line of sight.
A kind face appeared before hers, and she frowned, as the paramedic smiled consolingly at her. She realized his stubble beard was a lot like her Daddy’s. “Is that your house, kiddo?”
She nodded, noticing that Mary wasn’t by her side anymore, and felt her heartbeat quicken as she searched the dark street for familiar faces. The neighbours had apparently vanished, urged away by the firefighter’s words of warning. Her lower lip trembled when she couldn’t find anyone, and she felt deserted, tears pricking her eyes.
“I’m Mick. What’s your name?” He questioned kindheartedly, sitting on the grass, nearly at eye level with the child. He hoped she’d cooperate, for that made his life a hell of a lot easier. His shift ended in half an hour and he would love to go home on time, for once.
“Amy.” She whispered, cradling her burned hand and wishing she’d see her Daddy. He was no where to be seen, or heard, and she stared down at the grass, her bare feet wet from the dew that was soaking through the bottom of her pajama pants.
“Are you okay, Amy? Does it hurt anywhere?”
She nodded, and then held up her hand, causing him to back away to be able to see the blistered palm that she nearly thrust in his face. He reached out, latex gloved hands carefully circling her wrist and lowering it so he could examine the burn.
“Anywhere else?”
She shook her head, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes again. The paramedic wasn’t surprised, for it looked as though the father had broken the fall, taking the worst of the impact. It wasn’t uncommon for the child to get away with minor injuries in a case like this, he knew, having treated a young boy whose father sacrificed himself in much the same way only days before.
“Come along, Amy, we’ll take care of that burn of yours.” He slipped his hands under her armpits and put her on her feet, then walked her to the ambulance. She sobbed, then felt a watery smile break through on her face as the paramedic pulled a funny face. He was glad it worked, for a calm child was much easier to treat than one that sobbed or panicked.
A female paramedic patted Amy on the back softly in a gesture of compassion, then opened a metal cupboard inside the ambulance and pulled out a neatly folded blanket in a plastic bag. Removing the translucent cover she shook open the blanket, sliding it around Amy’s shoulders as Mick sat her down on the gurney. She hadn’t realized that she was cold until the blanket began to warm her up, and pulled it tighter around her with her left hand, her right lying, palm up, on her knee.
The firefighters were still hosing water over the smoldering remnants of the house, and a feeling of solidarity came over Amy, who wished more than before that her Daddy would be there to help her so that she wouldn’t be alone in the chaos. The house was fully engulfed in the high flames, windows marked by squares of brighter flames, the structure of the house weakening and crumbling down. There was nothing left, even Amy could tell.
“Daddy!” She wailed, to the apparent shock of the paramedics, who hadn’t expected a sudden outburst. She sobbed, clenching her left hand into a tight fist, her nails digging into her palm. “I want my Daddy! Dad-dy!” Lengthening the last syllable into a several second long stretch of panic Amy felt her throat sting in protest.
The paramedics exchanged glances of pity for the little blonde girl in grimy baby blue pajamas, her fine face streaked with soot and tears, crying for her father who may never be with her again.
The male vanished around the corner, the woman remained with the wailing child, who was kicking and lashing out with her good hand as the woman shut the doors of the ambulance. She sat down on the seat beside Amy and stroked the girl’s hair.
“We’re bringing you to the hospital, dear, and there we’ll see where your Daddy is, okay?” Holding the girl’s burnt hand out of harms way, her fingers circling the petite wrist, she nodded shortly at the male paramedic, who started the ambulance and switched off the sirens, waiting.
The little girl calmed down, exhausted, lying down on the gurney. Both paramedics knew that she wasn’t in a hurry to get to the hospital, and her father was. The ambulance carrying her Daddy sped out of the street, the sirens warning onlookers to get out of the way, leaving them feeling wary as the emergency passed momentarily through their lives.
The faces of the neighbours that watched with sad eyes from the windows of their homes were familiar to him, but even so he felt it every single time they drove away from a scene, and took a small part of their grief with him.
Once the road was clear the paramedic steered off the curb and onto the road, his cheeks wet. He had seen a lot in his line of work, despite the fact that he’d only been a paramedic for almost a year, but when it involved children he couldn’t help but feel upset. Maybe he’d learn one day to contain his emotions, once he’d been doing it for a while longer.
As this thought crossed his mind he shook his head, and with Amy’s heartbreaking expression etched in his memory he prayed her father would live to see his daughter grow up.
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