"Elijah!"

Elijah glanced up. "Mommy!" he squealed with delight.

A woman set down her groceries and bent down with her arms out as the three year old Elijah waddled over to her.

"Where's your daddy?" the woman asked.

Elijah pointed to the living room.

The woman carried Elijah over to a man who was watching the news.

"Hey," the woman said to the man as Elijah messed with her long brown waves.

The man looked up. "Hey," he said back, smiling.

The woman laughed. "What are you doing watching the news. Go get dressed, we're having the Roy's over, remember?"

The man jumped up, bewildered. "What?" he exclaimed. "But that's tomorrow!"

"It is tomorrow." the woman said. "Now go get changed while I go change Elijah."

The man chuckled and patted Elijah's head. "He's going to hate it." the man mused. "You know he hates tuxedos."

"He's not wearing a tux," the woman said. "He's going to wear a clean shirt and some pants with a belt. Maybe I should spike his hair too."

"Clara, I'll see to his hair." the man said to Clara. "We men know what do's to do and which do's to not do."

"Fine, just go put on a clean shirt John." Clara laughed.

Clara put Elijah down and he waddled to the couch to mess with the chocolate brown teddy bear on it.

His parents left to get dressed and Elijah lost interest in the bear. He tottered over to the dining room. Something small and bright caught his eye. It was up in the middle of the table and was on a white wax stick. It moved with the wind. Excited to find a new toy, he pulled out a chair and then climbed onto it. He looked at it some more. It tinged orange and grew bigger then smaller, bigger, then smaller.

He reached out his pudgy little hand and tried to grab it.

Excruciating pain shot up his hand and he screamed in pain. His mind seemed to darken with an unfamiliar feeling. He toppled over, knocking the candle off the table.

The flames licked the carpet for a few seconds before it started to spread.

Elijah howled with pain for a while and the next thing he knew he was in the arms of his mother. By then the room was in flames.

"Clara!" came the father's voice. "Where are you?"

"John!" Elijah heard his mother scream as he kept crying. His hand was red and swollen.

There was a loud bang and John collapsed to the ground. "John!" Clara screamed, running to the living room where the fire started to spread and the thick black smoke wrapped itself around the three.

She bent down and tried to untangle her husband from the mess. He knocked over a stand in the commotion, shocked to see fire running around on the carpet. The telephone wires had caught his foot and he tripped over Elijah's scattered toys. The fire was dangerously enclosing them.

"No, Clara. Listen to me. Go and run. Get Elijah out of here."

"No, I can't leave you here. I'll get you out." Clara sobbed, holding Elijah close to her.

For some bizarre reason. Elijah had stopped crying. Something in his head told him to stop. He tried to wrestle out of his mother's grip but she held on to him, afraid that she would lose him.

John yelled in pain as the fire started to burn on him. Clara sobbed even harder, tearing uselessly and savagely at the cords.

"Clara, you know I love you..." the father said, taking in deep breaths.

The mother slipped her hand into his. "I love you too." she whispered. She quickly kissed him and reluctantly let go and ran.

John laid his head down as flames swept over his body.

Clara fought the flames as best as she could, running to the front door.

She reached it, her hair on fire and her clothes burnt and singed. She yanked at the doorknob. The door opened and she screamed in pain, dropping Elijah. The fire had overwhelmed her and she had no choice but to pick up Elijah and throw him out the door.

She screamed again when the house started to fall. A beam fell on her and she went down, unconscious.

Little three year old Elijah was unaware he had lost his parents. He stood up and looked at his hand again.

He wandered off to the next door neighbors, the Whimfords, and showed them his burn.

They stood there, wide eyed and saw the house. They screamed and Elijah could remember that their eight year old daughter, Winnie, called the fire department.

Elijah remembered the medics driving his parents to the hospital.

He remembered the man who told him gently that they were dead.

He remembered packing up and being sent to live in an orphanage.

He remembered hating himself when he grew up learning that it was his fault they had died.

He hated himself for this. And he still does.