A Flame Burns Out
Warning: This chapter may be a little hard on those with very low tolerance for blood, pain, etc.
*Screeeeee*
… was all I heard before a hammer blow to my shoulder knocked me to the floor. The tile of the hallway, usually so cool on bare feet, was now a bubbling, deformed mess that burned worse than the actual flames heating it from below. When I attempted to heave myself away from its now-painful caress, I found that the cause of my fall, a large pipe likely for the transportation of water if the steam still escaping from from its cracked surface was any indication, was lying across my back, holding me in place. Somehow remaining calm when I knew most people would panic, a useful talent I have always been thankful for, I lifted my torso from the floor to prevent further burning, though the increased pain screaming from my hands made it difficult not to yank them away from the remains of the floor. Arcing my back, I rolled the pipe down onto the back of my thighs, wincing as my newly bruised muscles protested and the jagged edges where the pipe burst from the boiling water cut into my flesh, while the remaining water poured out and scalded my skin, already baked from the dry and smoky air. Taking a moment to gather my strength, I hummed loudly in my head like I did when getting a shot, then pulled my right leg up under my body, wincing as new scrapes and burns added themselves to my patchwork of wounds. Quickly doing the same for my other leg, I breathed a sigh of relief as I was freed, and looked up.
Glancing hurriedly around, still maintaining my (admittedly odd) collected state of mind, I instantly ruled out the closest stairwell when I saw the cherry red glow coming from both the gap between the door and the floor and the handle. Turning away towards the other stairs, I felt a surge of relief when I saw no flames or large chunks of debris blocking my path. With my arms raised above my head to fend off the chunks of plaster tumbling down, I forced my aching body to move and my burning lungs to work, fighting off the overwhelming urge to hack as best I could, and continuing on even when I could no longer contain it. The flames seemed to chase me, licking playfully along just as they had in the fireplaces and campfires I so loved. Even as I limped as fast as my battered body would take me, my mind, always the stronger and faster of the two, observed how they seemed to beckon me from the sides, and from behind when I glanced back. Though I knew that they would consume me without pause, simply more fuel for their short, bright lives, I couldn't see them as something to be hated, of feared.
As I reached the stairs, pushing open door with its unpleasantly warm handle that further aggravated the still throbbing burns on my hands, I briefly wondered as to the cause of this extremely sudden blaze. Though it was early afternoon I'd been asleep in my dorm room, so I couldn't be completely sure, but I remembered an enormous, all consuming sound that reverberated within my skull, and seemed to shake the very building. When I rushed out, and saw everything crumbling around me and a blaze spreading towards me, I took off only to be downed by the pipe. Now, as I made my jarring way down the stairs, I had to fight to keep my balance as the shaking continued. From my room on the fifth floor, I had already traveled two stories, and only had two left before I could get to the ground floor and find a way out.
Forcing myself down another story in spite of my body that still bled sluggishly and throbbed with burns, I was forced to grasp the handrail as the building shook again, worse than anything since the original whatever (some kind of explosion, I was almost sure). A crash from above was just enough warning for me to dive forward as what looked to be the entire building crashed down on the place I was originally standing. But it didn't stop there. More and more debris came down, pipes and blocks of cement, furniture and flaming pieces of random junk that once had some use in someone's dorm room. The rubble spilled over the stairs before the stairs themselves collapsed, and finally panicking, I covered my head as fire and stone rained down on me…
…before opening my eyes after the first impacts apparently knocked me out.
I've always regretted that.
I couldn't feel anything from below my left hip, but only because when I looked, I saw that the chunk of unrecognizable material that had crushed my entire left leg and half of my pelvis was on fire and had burned the parts of me it touched black. When I looked at the piece of cement that had cleanly detached my right leg at the knee as it fell down to land a few steps below me, the pain hit me. And I screamed. For one moment that stretched into infinity, that was all there was. The pain, and the wail of an animal that knows it has been killed, but hasn't died quite yet. When I was forced to stop and breathe, I blearily noted without care that somehow the rubble had created a bubble barely wider than my torso. And then I promptly screamed again.
I screamed until my smoke-damaged voice gave out. I cried until my already dry eyes could no longer produce tears. And when the tongues of fire finally came to me, I sobbed with relief upon seeing their friendly, dancing selves. Though my broken body surely screamed, my mind had been broken by the previous pain, and I simply welcomed the sharp sting that brought nothing in its wake.
My last sight in this world was of fingers of flame reaching to take me away.
How was it? I appreciate any insight, advice, etc., as I am a new writer who will surely make some mistake. Ideas are always welcome as well! Thx, iPiN.