Yee-hah! I finally figured out this chapter thing. Hopefully it will work.....
Okay, I've read a few reviews that complain about my cliffhangers. I'll admit that I put an extremely bad one on the 1st chapter because I think they spark interest in stories. (What can I say? I love making things overly dramatic).
For the other two chapters I do not think of them as cliffhangers, just good stopping points because my inspiration had vanished, (okay I guess the 2nd one was a bit of one...). The problem with this story is that almost any stopping point could be considered a cliffhanger because you still don't know what's going to happen to Arnold and Helga. I try to write the next chapters as fast as I can, but if I rush through them the quality diminishes. I understand if that frustrates you, but I think it's better to post this kind of story as I go along until waiting and posting it all at the end (eh, it's a little late ofr that).
Don't blame me, it's the plot's fault (tell me how can I possibly write this story without cliffhangers?) But then I guess I did make up the plot...er, so maybe it's my fault. But if you're getting really annoyed with them, I'll tell you that this story is coming to a closure fairly soon...
Thanks for all the reviews!
Without further ado, the 4th chapter...
Disclaimer: Me not own Hey Arnold!
Chapter 4: The Fury of Fire
Down a hallway, practically the only part of the elementary school remaining that was not completely incandescent with flames, hid the two children. The roar of the fire was inching closer to them; the smoke was becoming thicker and its deathly wrath continuing to seep into their lungs.
The blonde boy had to shudder at those thoughts. Then he looked down at the person he held in his arms, clutching tightly like she was a precious teddy bear. Her own blonde hair matted with tangles seemed beautiful at the moment and her pale skin almost heavenly.
He sighed. Maybe it was hopeless, maybe there was no way out. Trying to erase discouraging thoughts, he attempted to brainstorm other escape routes. All the stairwells were blocked so they unfortunately had to stay on the 2nd floor of the structure. The windows seemed to be completely out of reach. Well there was one that they could possibly get to...
He shook his football shaped head at his foolishness. To reach the window one would have to swing over the hole that was becoming wider every minute like Tarzan and go crashing through the glass window unless one could some how manage to land on remnants of the platform in front of the window. It could never be done...
Feeling discouraged once again, he turned his attention back to the girl he clutched so dearly. There was a slight movement from the previously still body. His emerald green eyes blinked, startled by the tiny motion. Her eyelashes had fluttered, but it was too slight to determine whether she was waking up, or a breeze had floated in through an open window and brushed them.
A new light of hope sparked inside the child. Holding onto her shoulders, shaking them gently, he leaned closer to her, so his mouth was less than an inch away from her billy goat ears.
"Can you hear me?" he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "You have to get up..." He gulped attempting to quell his riled nerves. "If you don't, we're going to die." He took a deep breath to sort out his thoughts. "I'm not going without you." He paused and then repeated the inquiry he had made earlier. "Can you hear me?"
His ears listened carefully for any signs of comprehension. But his plead still received no answer. Finally giving up to defeat, he turned away from the long-legged girl to stare at the bulletin board across the hall. Her words from earlier in the evening continued to repeat in his mind. She cared about him, she really did. She wanted him to be safe, to live to be 10.
He drew his knees to his chin, feeling depressed. The hallways loomed with the scent of thick smoke and grew darker every minute. The darkness was so frightening, one could not see what was there, one could only guess at what the shadows, or outlines really were. The hallways would continue to grow darker until the fire reached them. It was either that or the building would collapse first.
Still trying to get his mind off his bleak thoughts, Arnold studied the bulletin board across the hall. There were flyers for the upcoming winter dance and bake sale. He licked his red lips with his tongue. Just the thought of the rich chocolate chip cookies and moist brownies made his mouth water. He wondered if he would ever receive an opportunity to taste those delectable desserts again.
He shifted his eyes sadly, letting them rest on an another bulletin. This white sheet of paper had the daily schedule printed on it. He read the contents out-loud to himself softly. "9:00, school commences with tardy bell, 9:05 attendance, 9:15 pledge and announcements, 9:25 first..."
Arnold paused in his reading. He blinked at the words printed in black and white. His hear rate quickened with excitement as he jumped to his feet. Perhaps there was a way...
"I can hear you." The 9-year-old froze; his face moist from excessive sweating was expressionless while his skinny legs locked in place on the floor.
Standing still like an intimate object, perhaps similar to a statue, he held his breath and closed his eyes, allowing those few words so softly uttered to be absorbed in his mind. Finally, he slowly turned his taco head, forcing his eyes, now a misty green, to settle on what laid scrunched upon the tiled floor against the wall.
All reason and rationale slipped out of that footballhead and vanished into the air. He flung his fair arms around the crouching figure, burying his sticky, reddened face onto the figure's shoulder. For a while he simply embraced her, thankful her time had not come yet.
Reluctantly, Arnold pulled his head away from her shoulder, as comfortable as a pillow where he could rest and fade away into his own jubilant dreamland. He flicked away a few bothersome wisps of hair that were sticking to his face. He gazed into those blue eyes, which held such elaborate shades, making it nearly impossible to depict exactly what shade of color they actually were.
"Helga, you're alive!" he cried joyfully. Her blue eyes stared up at him with confusion evident from her puzzled expression.
"Doi, of course I'm alive. I wasn't aware that I might have checked out!" she snapped irritably, sitting upright. She then proceeded to survey her surroundings. "Footballhead, where are we?"
Now it was her old schoolmate's turn to give her a quizzical look. "Don't you remember?" Arnold extended his hand out to touch her arm as if it would allow the memory to transfer into her. "The fire?"
Color drained from her previously flushed cheeks. A despairing look formed on her face. "I thought that was just some nightmare," she mumbled.
The boy stood up, brushing off his blue pants and white shirt. He offered the blond a hand, and gently helped her off the tiled floor. Arnold stood awhile, Helga's hand still clasped in his. He studied their hands for a moment, focusing on the fact that his companion had not performed her customary tradition of snatching her hand away from his own.
"Helga," he began softly, his voiced hushed with seriousness.
"Yes?" she prodded, watching him still staring at their locked hands.
"I know how we can get out of here."
"Oh." For some absurd reason Helga sounded disappointed rather than excited that there might be an alternative to death. It was almost as if she had been anticipating something else...
Green eyes were lifted and rested on her blue ones. "I've got an idea," continued the 9-year-old. "And I think it might work."
"Well you'd better spill it quick, Footballhead!" Life was beginning to pulse through her body with the same intensity that was a trademark of the high-strung girl. Helga allowed herself to glance fearfully over her shoulder, well aware that the flames were closing in on them.
Her beloved spoke quickly, the contents of his plan of action spilling out rapidly, making the contrivance difficult to comprehend. His innocent voice was full of excitement and assurance. When he finished his spiel, he stood there solemnly, waiting her response.
The words began to absorb in her mind and a sanguine smile crept across her scarred face that she did not even bother to try and hide.
For the first time since they had been trapped inside the elementary school death did not seem right around the corner. Those pearly gates were father in the distance now, and the Grim Reaper's breath was fading, the outline of his ominous figure vanishing in the air, making his journey to find victims elsewhere.
"Okay, the music room should be in this hallway." He spun around and darted towards a door near the end. Helga had to let a lovesick sigh escape from her mouth. She stared after him for a moment or two until he looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze. "Come on, Helga!"
"I'm coming, criminey!" she grumbled, snapping out of her romantic mood. She sprinted towards him. He had halted at a door. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she saw him reach his hand out to touch the brass doorknob.
"Arnold, no!" she shrieked suddenly, diving towards his body. Before his fingertips could touch the doorknob, she tackled him to the tiled floor.
Arnold lay there very confused, staring up at the pig-tailed girl who was pinning him down. "Helga, what did you do that for?" he asked, slightly annoyed. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Are you aware of how much of an idiot you are?" she asked, close to screaming. Arnold covered his ears and flinched from the pain Helga's loud voice had inflicted upon him. She did not wait for him to respond to her inquiry.
"The room could be on fire! If you had opened that door..." She shuddered at the mere thought. She got off of him and went to stand in front of the wooden door. There was a brass sign that read: "Music Room 207."
Carefully, she reached her hand up to touch the brass knob. Then thinking better of it, she ripped off the sleeve of her white shirt. Holding it against her palm, to protect the tender flesh, Helga hesitantly extended her hand towards it. She let the cloth, with her hand pressed against it, brush against the doorknob.
Immediately after coming in contact, she jerked her hand away, omitting a small cry. She dropped the white cloth and gripped her right wrist with her left hand. The redness from the heat of the doorknob throbbed in pain on her right palm despite the protective layer of cloth.
She turned towards Arnold who was still lying bewildered on the floor. "We've got to get out of here, now!" she cried. Helga reached out with her good hand to haul the boy up to his feet. She then began sprinting down the hall away from the door, half-dragging Arnold.
He paused for a second to glance back over his shoulder. He gasped at the sight. Where they had been standing only moments ago was now ignited with flames. The door was being burned to ashes. Arnold turned his attention to focus on what lay in front of him and not behind him.
"There's got to be another room," he drifted hesitantly. 'What if there wasn't? What if...?' Shaking those dreadful thoughts that were trying to bring about his and Helga's downfall from looming in his mind, he noticed another door.
Halting in their mad retreat, he stepped towards it. Mimicking Helga, he ripped off a piece of his shirt and placed it against his palm before extending it out to touch the knob. He brushed it, waiting for the sharp pain to seep into his flesh. There was none. He grabbed hold of the knob firmly and still there was nothing. Slowly, he turned the doorknob, hearing a clicking sound as the door creaked open.
The room was darker than the hallways. He stepped in, eyes darting around. It had to be here. It just had to. He inspected the room. Where was it? Finally in the corner of his eye he spotted the object he had been searching for. He seriously doubted that his heart had never been happier to see the sight of an American flag then at that gleeful moment.
"Helga, I found one!" he cried. Helga's figure soon appeared in the doorway, her eyes shining hopefully.
"You did?" The boy grinned, holding up a rope like it was a long lost treasure chest, or a diamond with glittering facets that shone even through the darkness and the dreariness of the evening. "Tie the knot, quick Footballhead!"
Obeying her command, Arnold wrapped the rope around itself, forming a small loop, tied securely. He ripped the flag off the rope. "Sorry about this, Uncle Sam," he muttered under his breath. He lifted the knot in the air, showing his accomplishment. His companion simply nodded in approval.
"We have to hurry." The two raced off down the hallway, feet pounding on the tiled surface. They slowed down upon arriving at the corner of the corridor, both recalling their near fatal mistake the previous time. After exchanging a fearful glance, they turned the corner.
The hole to their dismay had spread wider. Its exact length was hard to determine from the flames blocking their view. At the edge of the gapping hole, gleamed a single window, glass shimmering from either the reflective light of the flames, or the bright red lights of fire-trucks and ambulances that shone outside the structure.
Helga gulped, stepping forward. She took the rope from Arnold. Her eyes scanned the hall until she spotted the small iron hook that had been able to withstand the intense heat. The hook was where the fire extinguisher was supposed to be, but unfortunately no one had replaced the essential item since Curly had taken a ride on it.
Licking her dry lips, she threw the rope out towards the wall. The two children held their breath as the rope floated in air as if debating what their fate should be. It flew past the iron hook. Quickly, she reeled the rope back in before it could catch on fire. She was about to try again when she felt a strange sensation in her body.
She stepped back from the ledge, keeling over. Helga felt like someone had grabbed her throat and lungs and twisted them to try and make a wiener balloon dog out of her internal organs. She coughed, and gasped, her lungs crying out for fresh, clean air.
"Helga, are you alirght?" asked Arnold, his eyes full of concern. The blue eyed girl lifted her white shirt to cover her mouth, a vain attempt to try to filter the smoke-filled air and keep it from poisoning her lungs like a dangerous toxin.
"You do it," she whispered, thrusting the rope to him. He studied her for a moment. Her right hand held up the collar of her shirt to her mouth while her left hand pressed against her chest as if to keep it from exploding from the lack of air.
Arnold turned back to the task that lay at hand. He had to make the rope catch hold of the hook. It was the only way. Inhaling deeply, trying to muster up all the strength he had, he threw the rope. Its fibers left the skin of his fingers as it went flying into the air. He stood waiting, watching.
As the rope seemed to hang in the air, he let his mind drift away, far away from the fire, from the fear, from the darkness.
He was back home with the gang. He opened the door to the red boardinghouse to see all of them on his stoop waiting for his arrival.
"Took you long enough, geekbait!" Helga cried. Gerald rolled his eyes.
"Come on man, let's go to Gerald Field and play ball."
Just like it used to be. Why couldn't life be simpler? Why did life have to torture them with pain? Why can't....
He paused, sensing the hopelessness in asking all those questions about why things were the way they are. A grin formed, remembering when Mr. Simmons had first come to PS 118 and how much they had tortured him. He recalled his words:
'Never stop asking why.'
'Then why can't life make sense? Why can't I just go home? Why can't I wake up to find that this whole incident is merely a dream, a figment of my sub-conscious working, and nothing else? Why won't anyone answer me???'
Frustrated by life's lack of simplicity, Arnold was thankful when he was startled out of his thoughts by a noise. He glanced up to see the loop he had made in the rope attach to the hook on the wall of the hallway. A perfect throw. He yanked on his side of the rope. It held well. They could swing over to the window, one at a time.
They would be safe; they would be okay. They would go back to the outside world, although chilled with the fall air, still somehow warm with the familiar faces of friends and families. They would be able to look up into the starless sky once again and they would laugh.
Laugh at the sheer idea that they could have not made it. Chuckle at the very thought that they could have gone to the pearly gates with those shiny handles glittering in the moonlight, almost daring them to enter, looking straight ahead, not daring to turn their heads and stare over their shoulders to see all that they were leaving behind them.
They would laugh until their sides ached; people would think they were crazy from their hysterics, but they wouldn't be. They would just be happy. Happy that all was well again; happy that their dreams might still come true; that they'd see another sunrise, taste another Mr. Fudgie Bar, and play another game of stickball at the vacant lot. Just like they used to, just like they always had and always will.
Arnold then remembered his companion. She was lying scrunched up on the floor, her knees drawn to her chin, rocking back and forth a little, coughing violently.
"Helga?" Snapped out of her own thoughts, she opened her eyes, shining with their mixed shades of blue. He offered her a hopeful smile. "The rope's latched onto the hook." She nodded, refusing to say anything out-loud. The pain in her throat was becoming all too unbearable. "Do you think you will be able to swing by yourself? I'm not sure if the rope can hold the both of us and-"
Her hand fluttered up, a sign to be quiet. She nodded, mouthing the words: "I think I can." Just like the little engine that could.
"Want to go first? It's strong enough to hold you and I can help you take a running start, then you can land by the platform in front of the window. The hole will be smaller then. You can throw the end of the rope back to me."
Helga stood up, brushing particles of dirt off the remains of her pink jumper. "I'll go first." Her voice was barely a whisper. She felt the fibers of the rope in her hand. Arnold backed her up, so they were about 10 feet from the hole where the flames continued to spurt out randomly with its unstoppable quest and its indescribable fierceness.
She clung to the rope, biting her lip from the pain that throbbed in her right hand, from her burn with the encounter with the doorknob. But she ignored the pain; she had to hold onto the rope. It was the only way. She could feel Arnold's hands on her waist. If not given the circumstances she probably would have fainted from his touch.
"Ready?" She nodded. "Whatever you do, don't let go of that rope." Helga couldn't help, but roll her eyes. If she had not been in so much pain she would have screamed 'Doi!' in his face. Instead her eyes focused on the window. It seemed to get farther away with ever second that passed. "Okay here we go." She didn't get a chance to scream 'No, wait!' Her legs mechanically began to run and as she reached the edge she glanced down at the flames.
They burned savagely. She shut her eyes immediately, feeling her feet leave the tiled floor as Arnold gave her a giant push like she was a young preschooler jubilantly playing on a swing. Helga couldn't hear anything; the crackling sounds muffled out everything. And even if she had opened her eyes all she would have seen was an overwhelming darkness.
Helga did not cry out as her legs whipped through the flames over the hole, or when she hit the tiled floor with a hard thud. She forced her blue eyes to open. With one hand still clinging onto the rope, she stood up. She had made it. She stood on the remains of the hallway, although being quickly eaten away by the fire, still held.
Forgetting her pain, Helga turned to gaze out the window and past her reflection in it. Outside there was a crowd of people, somehow in the sea of faces she was able to make out the outlines of her parents and Phoebe. It was pitch black except for the red lights of the firetrucks that twirled, their light almost blinding.
She jerked her head away from the window, glancing at the rope she still clutched tightly. She stood on her tip-toes to try and see over the roaring flames. "Arnold, I've got the rope!" she yelled, despite the pain. Silence. "Arnold, where are you? I need to throw it back to you so you can swing over!" Nothing answered her. "ARNOLD???!!"
Helga paced around on the platform, frantically. He had pushed her when she had been swinging over. She had felt his hands. But where was he? She couldn't see him...where could he have gone-
Helga suddenly coughed, her whole body shaking. Her lungs were screaming for her to forget about him and just jump out the window where she would be safe with smoke free air. She jerked her head back towards the window. The sky was a blanket of smoke. She frowned. Maybe it wasn't exactly smoke free air.
That was when she saw it, shining its rays through the blanket. She had to scowl at its sight. Wasn't it it's fault that they were in this predicament? Her red face, darkened, growing cloudy with anger. But it didn't leave; it continued to glow, a glittering diamond in a sea of blackness.
Overwhelmed by her weak lungs, she fell to the floor, gasping for air, reaching one hand out to open the window. In her coughing fit something slipped from a pocket in the remnants of her pink dress. A soft sound was heard as the object fell, its heart shape clattering across the tiled floor. The golden face shimmered in the light from the fire for a split-second before it disappeared down the hole, swallowed by the flames.
Helga could only stare in shock. She blinked. Her red lips formed a word, but not a single sound came from them.
**********************************
That's all for now. Sorry again for taking so long in updating this.
So, please let me know what you thought. I won't know if you liked it/hated it, or if you want me to continue/stop unless you review.
Thanks for taking the time to read this. I appreciate it more than you probably think.
*****Ooops, I forgot to mention this earlier, but I've kinda been looking for someone to be an editor, or something similar to that. I guess what I need at least is someone who won't mind me e-mailing a rough copy of a fic and giving their honest opinions on it and what sort of improvements it might need. If anyone's interested in doing this, just email me. Thanks, again!! ~Kimba
Okay, I've read a few reviews that complain about my cliffhangers. I'll admit that I put an extremely bad one on the 1st chapter because I think they spark interest in stories. (What can I say? I love making things overly dramatic).
For the other two chapters I do not think of them as cliffhangers, just good stopping points because my inspiration had vanished, (okay I guess the 2nd one was a bit of one...). The problem with this story is that almost any stopping point could be considered a cliffhanger because you still don't know what's going to happen to Arnold and Helga. I try to write the next chapters as fast as I can, but if I rush through them the quality diminishes. I understand if that frustrates you, but I think it's better to post this kind of story as I go along until waiting and posting it all at the end (eh, it's a little late ofr that).
Don't blame me, it's the plot's fault (tell me how can I possibly write this story without cliffhangers?) But then I guess I did make up the plot...er, so maybe it's my fault. But if you're getting really annoyed with them, I'll tell you that this story is coming to a closure fairly soon...
Thanks for all the reviews!
Without further ado, the 4th chapter...
Disclaimer: Me not own Hey Arnold!
Chapter 4: The Fury of Fire
Down a hallway, practically the only part of the elementary school remaining that was not completely incandescent with flames, hid the two children. The roar of the fire was inching closer to them; the smoke was becoming thicker and its deathly wrath continuing to seep into their lungs.
The blonde boy had to shudder at those thoughts. Then he looked down at the person he held in his arms, clutching tightly like she was a precious teddy bear. Her own blonde hair matted with tangles seemed beautiful at the moment and her pale skin almost heavenly.
He sighed. Maybe it was hopeless, maybe there was no way out. Trying to erase discouraging thoughts, he attempted to brainstorm other escape routes. All the stairwells were blocked so they unfortunately had to stay on the 2nd floor of the structure. The windows seemed to be completely out of reach. Well there was one that they could possibly get to...
He shook his football shaped head at his foolishness. To reach the window one would have to swing over the hole that was becoming wider every minute like Tarzan and go crashing through the glass window unless one could some how manage to land on remnants of the platform in front of the window. It could never be done...
Feeling discouraged once again, he turned his attention back to the girl he clutched so dearly. There was a slight movement from the previously still body. His emerald green eyes blinked, startled by the tiny motion. Her eyelashes had fluttered, but it was too slight to determine whether she was waking up, or a breeze had floated in through an open window and brushed them.
A new light of hope sparked inside the child. Holding onto her shoulders, shaking them gently, he leaned closer to her, so his mouth was less than an inch away from her billy goat ears.
"Can you hear me?" he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "You have to get up..." He gulped attempting to quell his riled nerves. "If you don't, we're going to die." He took a deep breath to sort out his thoughts. "I'm not going without you." He paused and then repeated the inquiry he had made earlier. "Can you hear me?"
His ears listened carefully for any signs of comprehension. But his plead still received no answer. Finally giving up to defeat, he turned away from the long-legged girl to stare at the bulletin board across the hall. Her words from earlier in the evening continued to repeat in his mind. She cared about him, she really did. She wanted him to be safe, to live to be 10.
He drew his knees to his chin, feeling depressed. The hallways loomed with the scent of thick smoke and grew darker every minute. The darkness was so frightening, one could not see what was there, one could only guess at what the shadows, or outlines really were. The hallways would continue to grow darker until the fire reached them. It was either that or the building would collapse first.
Still trying to get his mind off his bleak thoughts, Arnold studied the bulletin board across the hall. There were flyers for the upcoming winter dance and bake sale. He licked his red lips with his tongue. Just the thought of the rich chocolate chip cookies and moist brownies made his mouth water. He wondered if he would ever receive an opportunity to taste those delectable desserts again.
He shifted his eyes sadly, letting them rest on an another bulletin. This white sheet of paper had the daily schedule printed on it. He read the contents out-loud to himself softly. "9:00, school commences with tardy bell, 9:05 attendance, 9:15 pledge and announcements, 9:25 first..."
Arnold paused in his reading. He blinked at the words printed in black and white. His hear rate quickened with excitement as he jumped to his feet. Perhaps there was a way...
"I can hear you." The 9-year-old froze; his face moist from excessive sweating was expressionless while his skinny legs locked in place on the floor.
Standing still like an intimate object, perhaps similar to a statue, he held his breath and closed his eyes, allowing those few words so softly uttered to be absorbed in his mind. Finally, he slowly turned his taco head, forcing his eyes, now a misty green, to settle on what laid scrunched upon the tiled floor against the wall.
All reason and rationale slipped out of that footballhead and vanished into the air. He flung his fair arms around the crouching figure, burying his sticky, reddened face onto the figure's shoulder. For a while he simply embraced her, thankful her time had not come yet.
Reluctantly, Arnold pulled his head away from her shoulder, as comfortable as a pillow where he could rest and fade away into his own jubilant dreamland. He flicked away a few bothersome wisps of hair that were sticking to his face. He gazed into those blue eyes, which held such elaborate shades, making it nearly impossible to depict exactly what shade of color they actually were.
"Helga, you're alive!" he cried joyfully. Her blue eyes stared up at him with confusion evident from her puzzled expression.
"Doi, of course I'm alive. I wasn't aware that I might have checked out!" she snapped irritably, sitting upright. She then proceeded to survey her surroundings. "Footballhead, where are we?"
Now it was her old schoolmate's turn to give her a quizzical look. "Don't you remember?" Arnold extended his hand out to touch her arm as if it would allow the memory to transfer into her. "The fire?"
Color drained from her previously flushed cheeks. A despairing look formed on her face. "I thought that was just some nightmare," she mumbled.
The boy stood up, brushing off his blue pants and white shirt. He offered the blond a hand, and gently helped her off the tiled floor. Arnold stood awhile, Helga's hand still clasped in his. He studied their hands for a moment, focusing on the fact that his companion had not performed her customary tradition of snatching her hand away from his own.
"Helga," he began softly, his voiced hushed with seriousness.
"Yes?" she prodded, watching him still staring at their locked hands.
"I know how we can get out of here."
"Oh." For some absurd reason Helga sounded disappointed rather than excited that there might be an alternative to death. It was almost as if she had been anticipating something else...
Green eyes were lifted and rested on her blue ones. "I've got an idea," continued the 9-year-old. "And I think it might work."
"Well you'd better spill it quick, Footballhead!" Life was beginning to pulse through her body with the same intensity that was a trademark of the high-strung girl. Helga allowed herself to glance fearfully over her shoulder, well aware that the flames were closing in on them.
Her beloved spoke quickly, the contents of his plan of action spilling out rapidly, making the contrivance difficult to comprehend. His innocent voice was full of excitement and assurance. When he finished his spiel, he stood there solemnly, waiting her response.
The words began to absorb in her mind and a sanguine smile crept across her scarred face that she did not even bother to try and hide.
For the first time since they had been trapped inside the elementary school death did not seem right around the corner. Those pearly gates were father in the distance now, and the Grim Reaper's breath was fading, the outline of his ominous figure vanishing in the air, making his journey to find victims elsewhere.
"Okay, the music room should be in this hallway." He spun around and darted towards a door near the end. Helga had to let a lovesick sigh escape from her mouth. She stared after him for a moment or two until he looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze. "Come on, Helga!"
"I'm coming, criminey!" she grumbled, snapping out of her romantic mood. She sprinted towards him. He had halted at a door. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she saw him reach his hand out to touch the brass doorknob.
"Arnold, no!" she shrieked suddenly, diving towards his body. Before his fingertips could touch the doorknob, she tackled him to the tiled floor.
Arnold lay there very confused, staring up at the pig-tailed girl who was pinning him down. "Helga, what did you do that for?" he asked, slightly annoyed. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Are you aware of how much of an idiot you are?" she asked, close to screaming. Arnold covered his ears and flinched from the pain Helga's loud voice had inflicted upon him. She did not wait for him to respond to her inquiry.
"The room could be on fire! If you had opened that door..." She shuddered at the mere thought. She got off of him and went to stand in front of the wooden door. There was a brass sign that read: "Music Room 207."
Carefully, she reached her hand up to touch the brass knob. Then thinking better of it, she ripped off the sleeve of her white shirt. Holding it against her palm, to protect the tender flesh, Helga hesitantly extended her hand towards it. She let the cloth, with her hand pressed against it, brush against the doorknob.
Immediately after coming in contact, she jerked her hand away, omitting a small cry. She dropped the white cloth and gripped her right wrist with her left hand. The redness from the heat of the doorknob throbbed in pain on her right palm despite the protective layer of cloth.
She turned towards Arnold who was still lying bewildered on the floor. "We've got to get out of here, now!" she cried. Helga reached out with her good hand to haul the boy up to his feet. She then began sprinting down the hall away from the door, half-dragging Arnold.
He paused for a second to glance back over his shoulder. He gasped at the sight. Where they had been standing only moments ago was now ignited with flames. The door was being burned to ashes. Arnold turned his attention to focus on what lay in front of him and not behind him.
"There's got to be another room," he drifted hesitantly. 'What if there wasn't? What if...?' Shaking those dreadful thoughts that were trying to bring about his and Helga's downfall from looming in his mind, he noticed another door.
Halting in their mad retreat, he stepped towards it. Mimicking Helga, he ripped off a piece of his shirt and placed it against his palm before extending it out to touch the knob. He brushed it, waiting for the sharp pain to seep into his flesh. There was none. He grabbed hold of the knob firmly and still there was nothing. Slowly, he turned the doorknob, hearing a clicking sound as the door creaked open.
The room was darker than the hallways. He stepped in, eyes darting around. It had to be here. It just had to. He inspected the room. Where was it? Finally in the corner of his eye he spotted the object he had been searching for. He seriously doubted that his heart had never been happier to see the sight of an American flag then at that gleeful moment.
"Helga, I found one!" he cried. Helga's figure soon appeared in the doorway, her eyes shining hopefully.
"You did?" The boy grinned, holding up a rope like it was a long lost treasure chest, or a diamond with glittering facets that shone even through the darkness and the dreariness of the evening. "Tie the knot, quick Footballhead!"
Obeying her command, Arnold wrapped the rope around itself, forming a small loop, tied securely. He ripped the flag off the rope. "Sorry about this, Uncle Sam," he muttered under his breath. He lifted the knot in the air, showing his accomplishment. His companion simply nodded in approval.
"We have to hurry." The two raced off down the hallway, feet pounding on the tiled surface. They slowed down upon arriving at the corner of the corridor, both recalling their near fatal mistake the previous time. After exchanging a fearful glance, they turned the corner.
The hole to their dismay had spread wider. Its exact length was hard to determine from the flames blocking their view. At the edge of the gapping hole, gleamed a single window, glass shimmering from either the reflective light of the flames, or the bright red lights of fire-trucks and ambulances that shone outside the structure.
Helga gulped, stepping forward. She took the rope from Arnold. Her eyes scanned the hall until she spotted the small iron hook that had been able to withstand the intense heat. The hook was where the fire extinguisher was supposed to be, but unfortunately no one had replaced the essential item since Curly had taken a ride on it.
Licking her dry lips, she threw the rope out towards the wall. The two children held their breath as the rope floated in air as if debating what their fate should be. It flew past the iron hook. Quickly, she reeled the rope back in before it could catch on fire. She was about to try again when she felt a strange sensation in her body.
She stepped back from the ledge, keeling over. Helga felt like someone had grabbed her throat and lungs and twisted them to try and make a wiener balloon dog out of her internal organs. She coughed, and gasped, her lungs crying out for fresh, clean air.
"Helga, are you alirght?" asked Arnold, his eyes full of concern. The blue eyed girl lifted her white shirt to cover her mouth, a vain attempt to try to filter the smoke-filled air and keep it from poisoning her lungs like a dangerous toxin.
"You do it," she whispered, thrusting the rope to him. He studied her for a moment. Her right hand held up the collar of her shirt to her mouth while her left hand pressed against her chest as if to keep it from exploding from the lack of air.
Arnold turned back to the task that lay at hand. He had to make the rope catch hold of the hook. It was the only way. Inhaling deeply, trying to muster up all the strength he had, he threw the rope. Its fibers left the skin of his fingers as it went flying into the air. He stood waiting, watching.
As the rope seemed to hang in the air, he let his mind drift away, far away from the fire, from the fear, from the darkness.
He was back home with the gang. He opened the door to the red boardinghouse to see all of them on his stoop waiting for his arrival.
"Took you long enough, geekbait!" Helga cried. Gerald rolled his eyes.
"Come on man, let's go to Gerald Field and play ball."
Just like it used to be. Why couldn't life be simpler? Why did life have to torture them with pain? Why can't....
He paused, sensing the hopelessness in asking all those questions about why things were the way they are. A grin formed, remembering when Mr. Simmons had first come to PS 118 and how much they had tortured him. He recalled his words:
'Never stop asking why.'
'Then why can't life make sense? Why can't I just go home? Why can't I wake up to find that this whole incident is merely a dream, a figment of my sub-conscious working, and nothing else? Why won't anyone answer me???'
Frustrated by life's lack of simplicity, Arnold was thankful when he was startled out of his thoughts by a noise. He glanced up to see the loop he had made in the rope attach to the hook on the wall of the hallway. A perfect throw. He yanked on his side of the rope. It held well. They could swing over to the window, one at a time.
They would be safe; they would be okay. They would go back to the outside world, although chilled with the fall air, still somehow warm with the familiar faces of friends and families. They would be able to look up into the starless sky once again and they would laugh.
Laugh at the sheer idea that they could have not made it. Chuckle at the very thought that they could have gone to the pearly gates with those shiny handles glittering in the moonlight, almost daring them to enter, looking straight ahead, not daring to turn their heads and stare over their shoulders to see all that they were leaving behind them.
They would laugh until their sides ached; people would think they were crazy from their hysterics, but they wouldn't be. They would just be happy. Happy that all was well again; happy that their dreams might still come true; that they'd see another sunrise, taste another Mr. Fudgie Bar, and play another game of stickball at the vacant lot. Just like they used to, just like they always had and always will.
Arnold then remembered his companion. She was lying scrunched up on the floor, her knees drawn to her chin, rocking back and forth a little, coughing violently.
"Helga?" Snapped out of her own thoughts, she opened her eyes, shining with their mixed shades of blue. He offered her a hopeful smile. "The rope's latched onto the hook." She nodded, refusing to say anything out-loud. The pain in her throat was becoming all too unbearable. "Do you think you will be able to swing by yourself? I'm not sure if the rope can hold the both of us and-"
Her hand fluttered up, a sign to be quiet. She nodded, mouthing the words: "I think I can." Just like the little engine that could.
"Want to go first? It's strong enough to hold you and I can help you take a running start, then you can land by the platform in front of the window. The hole will be smaller then. You can throw the end of the rope back to me."
Helga stood up, brushing particles of dirt off the remains of her pink jumper. "I'll go first." Her voice was barely a whisper. She felt the fibers of the rope in her hand. Arnold backed her up, so they were about 10 feet from the hole where the flames continued to spurt out randomly with its unstoppable quest and its indescribable fierceness.
She clung to the rope, biting her lip from the pain that throbbed in her right hand, from her burn with the encounter with the doorknob. But she ignored the pain; she had to hold onto the rope. It was the only way. She could feel Arnold's hands on her waist. If not given the circumstances she probably would have fainted from his touch.
"Ready?" She nodded. "Whatever you do, don't let go of that rope." Helga couldn't help, but roll her eyes. If she had not been in so much pain she would have screamed 'Doi!' in his face. Instead her eyes focused on the window. It seemed to get farther away with ever second that passed. "Okay here we go." She didn't get a chance to scream 'No, wait!' Her legs mechanically began to run and as she reached the edge she glanced down at the flames.
They burned savagely. She shut her eyes immediately, feeling her feet leave the tiled floor as Arnold gave her a giant push like she was a young preschooler jubilantly playing on a swing. Helga couldn't hear anything; the crackling sounds muffled out everything. And even if she had opened her eyes all she would have seen was an overwhelming darkness.
Helga did not cry out as her legs whipped through the flames over the hole, or when she hit the tiled floor with a hard thud. She forced her blue eyes to open. With one hand still clinging onto the rope, she stood up. She had made it. She stood on the remains of the hallway, although being quickly eaten away by the fire, still held.
Forgetting her pain, Helga turned to gaze out the window and past her reflection in it. Outside there was a crowd of people, somehow in the sea of faces she was able to make out the outlines of her parents and Phoebe. It was pitch black except for the red lights of the firetrucks that twirled, their light almost blinding.
She jerked her head away from the window, glancing at the rope she still clutched tightly. She stood on her tip-toes to try and see over the roaring flames. "Arnold, I've got the rope!" she yelled, despite the pain. Silence. "Arnold, where are you? I need to throw it back to you so you can swing over!" Nothing answered her. "ARNOLD???!!"
Helga paced around on the platform, frantically. He had pushed her when she had been swinging over. She had felt his hands. But where was he? She couldn't see him...where could he have gone-
Helga suddenly coughed, her whole body shaking. Her lungs were screaming for her to forget about him and just jump out the window where she would be safe with smoke free air. She jerked her head back towards the window. The sky was a blanket of smoke. She frowned. Maybe it wasn't exactly smoke free air.
That was when she saw it, shining its rays through the blanket. She had to scowl at its sight. Wasn't it it's fault that they were in this predicament? Her red face, darkened, growing cloudy with anger. But it didn't leave; it continued to glow, a glittering diamond in a sea of blackness.
Overwhelmed by her weak lungs, she fell to the floor, gasping for air, reaching one hand out to open the window. In her coughing fit something slipped from a pocket in the remnants of her pink dress. A soft sound was heard as the object fell, its heart shape clattering across the tiled floor. The golden face shimmered in the light from the fire for a split-second before it disappeared down the hole, swallowed by the flames.
Helga could only stare in shock. She blinked. Her red lips formed a word, but not a single sound came from them.
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That's all for now. Sorry again for taking so long in updating this.
So, please let me know what you thought. I won't know if you liked it/hated it, or if you want me to continue/stop unless you review.
Thanks for taking the time to read this. I appreciate it more than you probably think.
*****Ooops, I forgot to mention this earlier, but I've kinda been looking for someone to be an editor, or something similar to that. I guess what I need at least is someone who won't mind me e-mailing a rough copy of a fic and giving their honest opinions on it and what sort of improvements it might need. If anyone's interested in doing this, just email me. Thanks, again!! ~Kimba