Chapter Three: The Fire
Emmett's POV
I knew I was dying, so why hadn't they killed me?
It was some kind of slow torture, of that I was sure. The fire still hadn't dulled, and yet it had been burning for centuries. Or maybe it had only been minutes. I had no concept of time in this black abyss they had sent me to, only me and the ever-present pain.
What had I done? Life on our Ohio farm was sometimes tough, but I stayed cheerful – I always had, it was part of my nature. I loved my family, and was always obedient to my family. As much as I teased her, I adored my little sister, Annabelle, and she knew that I would give her the world if she asked. I was eighteen, nearly a man, and I had plans to go to college and study to be an environmentalist, so I could spend as much time as possible in the outdoors; the place I loved more than anywhere else.
I was talented in athletics, and always won the foot races and wrestling contests at the annual county fairs. I had two best friends, and we discussed or tried everything. We talked of everything from politics to hunting trips to girls. We tried anything from scaling the cliffs near the edge of the state to organizing a city rugby team to backpacking nearly fifty miles last summer.
I enjoyed going to the town barn raisings, and I liked the dances afterward even more, but I had never found someone. Of course I had courted a few girls – dating and church were the only times I ever wore my suit – and I loved dancing and flirting with whoever I met, but I never really felt that any person was the one. And I knew when I met her; I would be able to tell. People used to tell me that my most defining characteristics were my optimism, humor, and good nature. What they didn't know was how the one other thing I defined myself by was my desire for a family. At eighteen, I longed for a wife who would love me, take care of me, and know of my love for her. At barely a man, I yearned for my own children. Boys to whom I could teach to farm, hunt and wrestle. Girls who I could tease, teach to dance, and give them arm wrestling skills to rival any boy in Ohio. And ever since I was a young boy, I had an unquenchable desire for my own farm to plant, plow, and harvest. It seemed like a stable way to make a living. You living from the land, and the land living from you. A healthy relationship.
I may have not been the most faithful sermon attendee, but I read my bible steadily, knew I was blessed, and loved the Lord. I had always assumed he loved me too.
Not anymore.
I was sure I had never done anything to deserve the torture I was suffering right now. I screamed again as the fire flared in my veins. The angel was gone. The small bit of peace left to me had fled the room all too soon, only a few minutes into the burning. Don't go! I had wanted to cry to the angel. Don't leave me to burn by myself! But she had dropped my hand – the icy pressure had done nothing to relieve the burning – and stroked my curls one more time, and then left.
Even the optimism that I could always feel in my soul for as long as I could remember was now gone. I couldn't find it in my heart, couldn't call it back. I had always relied on the natural sunny-ness in me to get me through hard times; whenever I was feeling down, I just pulled it to the front of my mind and let it steer my course. It helped me and everyone around me. But I couldn't feel the buoyancy in me anymore, and I knew I was drowning. Waves of pain and sorrow like I had never felt before tugged at me, and, with one final agonized shriek, I surrendered to the blackness.