Fire. Painful and slow. But that didn't bother him. All he could feel is his heart. Beating with memories and loss. Like a fire within. A fire that he could feel through his jumper if he were to put his hand to his chest.
The heat. Warm and comforting; like the arms that once held him, now cold and buried by soil.
Smoke, he knew that would be the worst. Suffocating and gagging for air as the thickness fills his lungs.
There he sat with his ankles deep in blaze and his mind already gone. Sirens, he might be saved, then again, he might not. He can hear the door fly open and heavy steps striding quickly across to the corner where he slumped. Hugging the violin box, like a vice, which he hadn't dared touch until then. Strong arms lift him and he feels weightless. That feeling he has been striving for. Eyes burnt closed with soot and flame he reaches his hand to touch the helmet of the man who unfortunately saved him. But there was none. The only sound he heard before he slipped into a state of unconsciousness was a plea that will always ring in his head for the rest of the days he will live: "One more miracle, John, for me."