A/N - Wrote this 2 years ago. Some friends were participating in NaNoWriMo and I got swept up in the writing spirit.

Disclaimer - I do not own the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel nor the prompt list Through the Fire came from.


89. Through the Fire

One would think that when one is about to be cooked alive, one would be thinking of slowly turning on a spit over a large open bonfire. Of red, hot flames, fiery tongues of orange, yellow and red wrapping around the body, and heating it till it turns lobster-red. Maybe, if left too long, slowly charring to a coal-black mess. If left even longer, crumbling to fine, dusty ash.

Now I face that prospect, but instead of that large open fire, I face an oven. A dirty grey iron oven, covered in years of black soot and who knows what else. Or should I say who else? Checking how hot it is by crawling into the gaping, red mouth of a stove? I think not. I know what that horrible Witch is thinking. Once I crawl in, she will close the door and leave me trapped in there until I am roasted alive. Then, when I am dead and cooked, maybe eaten, she will eat my brother! I cannot allow that to happen. Not to my dear brother. The only remaining member of my family.

But what can I do? I am just a little girl, barely ten years old. What can I do against a grown up Witch who can use magic? Brother is locked up in that tiny storeroom, never being allowed to come out, always kept in that dark, dank cellar. This little cottage is in the middle of a thick forest, off the beaten path, where no one will willingly enter.

Why did Papa leave us behind? Why would he leave Brother and me inside this forest with lots of scary animals? Does Papa not love us anymore? Did I do something bad? Papa, I miss you. Brother, where are you? You have always protected me against all the monsters. Where are you now? My Brother, my protector.

I must save Brother. I realize it is now my turn to protect Brother. As if someone else is controlling me, I hear myself say out loud, "I don't know how to do it. Could you show me?" As the last word leaves my lips, I start shaking in fear. The Witch looks so angry and is grumbling furiously. I can barely believe my eyes when she shuffles towards the stove. Watching her climb into the fiery cavern, I am gripped by a sudden rush of courage. I seize the broom and use it to push the Witch in. When she has fully tumbled inside, I slam the door of the stove shut and latch it tightly. As I lean against the front, I can feel the building heat of the fire inside permeate through my thin dress. I can hear her unworldly screams of pain and the scratching of her fingers on the iron door. It makes me think of the fiery pits of hell.

That is the first person I have killed. Even years later, I still have nightmares of gaping holes with hell's fire burning within. I can still hear her pained screams as she falls through the fire. The smell of burning flesh haunts me. Fire is not a source of warmth or comfort; it is a gateway to hell.


A/N - Constructive criticism is welcome.