Angel in the Ashes:
Andrew's Story
I am being fought over by my emotions. Each one wanting to gain control over me. Like each feeling has a grip on one of my limbs and they are pulling, each in a different direction. My body, at the moment feels numb and paralyzed. I can't move, can't blink. What I am seeing and can't turn my attention away from is the horror caused by the destruction of fire. All that is left of a busy school, a busy classroom, full of innocent, young children and their teacher. Or at least seem innocent. It was. But isn't anymore. The school walls, all that is left is a skeleton, made of burnt pillars of wood. Black. Grey. Children's desks and chairs. Desks, now in pieces, like the walls. Burnt. Chairs, they were plastic, but now just a melted mess. Once a windowless room, but if you saw what I'm seeing, you'd never believe that. You can't even see the floor because of all the ashes. And I'm the Angel standing here, watching. An Angel in the ashes.
I don't want to scare you. Telling you this, and describing this to you weakens my spirit. But you must know. You must know everything I am seeing, feeling and remembering. You must. Please.
The thing that makes me hate this moment so much is the bodies. No one could ever get use to seeing something like this. Not even an Angel. Children. Their Teacher. Burned alive. No lives spared, I think. Most of them have half burned away, revealing white bone, which has been stained by blood and the ashes. Ashes of wood, of skin. Some of the faces. Scared. Eyes all wide open, if they still even have faces. As I study each face I receive images of how each child suffocated and then died. Girls. Boys. It's hard to tell them apart because their hair has burned away in the fire. Ashes. That's what they mostly are now. Ashes. And I'm the Angel in the ashes.
To think this had all started because of the choices the children made. This fire was no accident. It wasn't a case of faulty wiring or whatever. It was deliberately set because someone randomly chose to pick on someone else, just because they seemed different. Then another kid chose to join in on the 'fun', they called it. And it kept on going and growing until almost everyone in the class had chosen to pick on that one kid. Just another classmate. It went on for a little while, till the kid finally got an idea. A way to make it stop. To stop the names. The cruel jokes. The words that were to loud to ignore. And he thought to himself, if he was going to die, they might as well die with him. It was his time to fight back. So he secretly lit the classroom door on fire, in the windowless room, and ........... they all died. They died because someone made a choice. A stupid choice. The kid watched everyone die, and then he walked into the flames.
I was suppose to be the one to stop it, I say to myself. But they used there gift of free will and look what happened. Even the one's who hadn't made the wrong choice suffered. But they hadn't made the right choice either. They could have tried to stop it, to stop the bullying, the teasing and the cruel jokes. But they didn't. They just let it continue and ignored it. Ignored the pleading eyes of the victim. So they suffered as a consequence.
I am no longer frozen. I can her the crackling of the weak flames and the screaming people a ways away. Probably other teachers, students, mothers and fathers. I can also her the faint sound of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles' sirens wailing. Getting louder as they approach the school. But they are to late. I am surrounded by ashes floating in the air, but my clothing is still pure white. Not a trace of ash has stained it. I crouch low to the ground to realized that the kid who had set the fire is at my feet. I lightly touch the burnt skin on the top of his head with the tips of my fingers. Bloody. No hair left. Then I notice his hands. Also bloody. Folded in the praying position. And now that I think about it more, I have realized that he had prayed. After he had watched them, his classmates burn alive, he had prayed for God to forgive him for the terrible thing that he had done. He might have also asked God to forgive his classmates. And he might have even asked God to give him a second chance as he felt the tongues of fire lick at his skin and clothing. Because as I looked at the boy's pained face, I see him blink. I see his eyelids open and then shut. Then I see his chest move up then down. But I don't know if what I said about his prayer is a hundred percent true. I don't even know if he prayed at all. Remember, I'm just the Angel in the ashes. Crying.