Written in Heaven: Another Disturbing Story

My mom and I have never really had a good relationship. We’re always getting mad at each other over something. I forgot what it was that we was that we were arguing about the other day, but it started from (Okay, I’ll admit it,) the usual complaint from me, and often, a defensive excuse back from her, (and vice versa.) We go to sleep, wake up, and forget about it. I haven’t learned a lot of things in my short life, but one thing I’ve learned, is that it doesn’t always work that way.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Cynthia. You’re the child. I’m the adult.” She declared.

I heaved out a defeated sigh and slid out of the car, slipping my backpack on my back and slamming the car door. Thank goodness, school. I never thought I’d say that. I trudged in through the heavy double doors with the slightest bit of optimism and hope to last me the day. (Well, at least until I arrive at home.)

 Halfway through the day, I was in math class, wavering in and out of sleep. I had been getting bits and pieces here and there of what he’d been saying.

Suddenly, Mr. "What’s-his-name" pulled out a tape measure. (Oh, joy.)

What he said next caught my attention.

“You’re right here.” He said, pointing to a small line towards the beginning. “If you were the average person, this is all you’d have left.” He looked over the length of the tape measure and I felt a sense of inspiration. I thought about my life on the tape measure, and how long I’d have left to go. I had a long life ahead of me.

He chuckled. "And ya see this, children?" His thin, wrinkly fingers jabbed a spot on the measuring tape near the end. "That is where this old guy's at." He said, referring to himself. "Live your life to the fullest. Believe me, I know." He said confidently. “Because you never know,” he looked me in the eyes. “It could be tomorrow.” 

As if we were in a movie, the bell rang as soon as he ended with those last impactful words.

"Don't forget the homework on chapter 7!" He announced as we headed out the door.

When I opened the front door to the house, the scent of sugar cookies baking in the oven met my senses. 

"Hi, honey!" Mom called from the kitchen as I entered the door.

I threw my backpack against the wall and sprawled out on the couch. “What are you making for dinner?” I asked lazily.

Mom glared back at me, without saying a word.

“You know, I’m really starting to get sick and tired of your ungratefulness.” She remained in her spot in the kitchen, looking expectantly at me as if I’d walk away rudely. When she realized I wasn’t planning on it, she stormed into her room and slammed the door.

What was up with her today? Gosh, what a foul mood she was in.

I went over to the oven and peered in through the greasy window impatiently. When I looked up at the timer, it had about six minutes left.

I decided to go run a bath to cool myself down and try to relax a little.

Through the muffled sound of the bathroom fan, I heard my brother and sister arguing in the living room. You could tell they were fighting by the tone of their voices. Probably over the TV, I assumed. My life was chaotic and filled with bickering. And this was my only time away from it, to be alone.

I sunk down into the water and stared up at the ceiling until it turned grey from staring so long. I closed my eyes and blocked out the sounds of the world.

Soon, I was scared I would drift into sleep and the bath water began to feel cold. I raised my hand out of the water and felt my finger tips were beginning to fell wrinkled like prunes. I thought about today, tomorrow, and the next day. We are all waiting for things to happen. Waiting for the bell for the bell to ring, for the night to come, for-

I sat up and listened to the quiet house.

Wait, quiet house? 

I dried myself off with a towel and threw on my comfy clothes, curious as to why the house had become silent. They probably went somewhere without me.

I went over to the door and grabbed the doorknob, but as soon as I did, I jerked it back, as if I’d been shocked.

The doorknob was hot.

And I don't mean warm-ish. It was hot like my curling iron, getting ready for school in the morning. I was incredibly confused and frightened. The next thing I did was something I was taught to do in elementary school. I felt the door. And when I felt the door, it was warm as well. 

I started to panic, and called out for someone, but no one answered back. 

All I could hear was a faint crackling sound. Before I could connect the clues in my mind, I heard a scream. The soft gentle voice sounded familiar, but the pain distorted the sound. Who I heard was weak, sick, and small.

"Fire!" Someone yelled from across the house.

This confirmed that I was, in fact, in this nightmare.

It was my sister.

I knew what I needed to do. I started counting down in my head, preparing myself mentally for flames on the other side of the door.

Three.. Two..

One.

When I threw open the door, heat seared my skin and nearly blurred my vision. I wondered how she could still be alive. She probably wouldn’t be for long.

The adrenaline surge pushed me past the doorway as I frantically searched for my sister through the smoke.

“Nicole!” I yelled.

As soon as I found her, I slung her over my shoulder and ran toward the bathroom, remembering the rest of the house surrounding me was engulfed in flames. I shut the door and laid her down on the rug.

Panicked tears were running down her face. “You’re safe now, you’ll be okay.” I reassured her. I searched for a way out, and looked up at the small window that could be large enough for her to get out. I’d find another way for me to get out later. I climbed up onto the unstable shelves, cradling her in my arms. It took three tries, but finally I knocked out the window with my elbow. The square piece of glass dropped to the ground below and shattered into pieces.

“Alright, Nicole. You’ll be okay. You’re safe.” I whispered to her, helping her down onto the grass below. “Go to the neighbors and get help!” I called to her. She nodded and ran with her little 3-year old legs down the sidewalk.

As soon as I looked back, the fire caught the door that had been separating me from the fire-engulfed house. Ashes flew around and demolished my senses. The crisp-crackling reminded me of a comforting bonfire on the beach. But this only filled me with fear.

A deep google-searched "what's the worst pain a human can feel?" curiosity that won't do me any good now, fear.

It was as though I could hear the blood pumping in my ears, and it was so warm that it felt like a hot summer day with the sun beating down on you at a record-breaking hundred and ten degrees, only worse.

Much worse.

The pain of the burning blaze  scorched my skin and singed the hair on my arms and the top of my head. Of all the scraped knees and all of the doctors' office "Could-you-please-hold-her-down" shots, this pain is above all others. 

A fast and final plan of hope. 

Forlorn, I looked down at the bathwater that I had never drained out of the tub. After pulling off my clothes, I slumped down into the water. It was cool, and would shelter me from the heat momentarily.  But there was no was no winning this battle. Finally, the heat was too much for me to bare, and I immersed myself in the water.

I watched from below, as the flames reached me and licked the tops of the water.  My tears  and regrets bubbled up to the surface and disappeared. The fire engulfed the world above, like I was in a vivid dream.

But this was no dream.

 Time slowed down.

The world went red; No words can describe.

Then black; A sensation that is difficult to forget.

Then white; And I was at peace.       

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Mom where’s Cynthia?” I asked.

“She’s in heaven, baby doll.” She said sympathetically, her voice breaking slightly.

I hate it when she calls me baby doll.

My name is Nicole.

 










“Can we make cookies?” I pleaded.  

“Not today, Honey.”