Mark's father was breathing heavy, cursing. He could hear his mother's sobs. She was panicking. Telling her husband to hurry, that the flames were getting closer. "Hurry, hurry, Mark, Glenn!" She screamed. Unable to contain her fear. Mark thought that this wasn't how it happened. His parents were unable to escape their own bedroom. But here in the dream, they were out in the hallway, trying to save them.
Mark could remember how it really happened. It was him who was out in the hallway. And it was him who was trying to open his parent's door. His parents telling him to get his brother, Glenn out to safety. But he couldn't see hardly anything that was infront of him. And he was scared. He was just a boy him self. How was he supposed to save anyone? He needed his parents, he needed his father. His father was supposed to be the one to keep them out of harm's way. He wasn't strong enough, he wasn't brave enough. His father was, he only felt like running away out the house. His father would be brave, but his father was unable to help.
He could smell the smoke getting heavier. Burning his eyes. And the flames, the flames were getting so high. And closer to him, ever so closer. He stood, unsure of himself. He only knew he was scared. His heart beated faster, he felt like he was going to drop dead, he was so scared. He tried to hold it together. His parents still slamming on their bedroom door, calling out to him, telling him what to do, but Mark stood there, closed mouth. His mouth was dry. He couldn't speak back to them. He looked around the room. Panic rising up in his throat. He could hear Glenn softly crying, what was he to do?
But this dream, as all the others were different. He was locked in with his brother. It was still up to him, to save Glenn. But he was scared, just as if it was real. Just as if he was still that little boy, from so many years ago. He still didn't know what to do. The smoke rising higher, causing everyone to cough. Mark couldn't barely understand what his father was shouting through the door. His voice was so horse. And he kept having to stop speaking when a coughing spell took over. And all Mark could hear was his mother, crying in between her coughs. Glenn kept crying, holding on to Mark. He said how he was getting sleepy. The smoke inhaltion, getting to him.
"You can't go to sleep now, Glenn." Mark whispers down to him. Mark heard his father yelling again. The loud thumping noise, was back again. But the door was stronger then his father's shoulder, or the heat, Mark didn't know but he just wished that they were with him. And not seperated by this piece of wood. Mark could feel the sleepiness getting to him, now. His eyes wanted to slowly close in on themselves. He tried to keep them open. But the minutes passed, and the more time passed, the worse it became. And the more tired he became. Until he was sitting down on the floorboards, next to Glenn, they were huddled next to each other. Gleen's head laying on Mark's chest. Mark stared out towards the door. He held onto Glenn's little hand. His parent's voices disappeared. Everything was quiet and still. Mark closed his eyes, momentarily.
A loud thud, shot Mark's eyes open wide, he looked up. He expected to feel Glenn's little body still next to him, but he was gone. And Mark was yet again alone. Until he heard his father's voice, it seemed to be all around him. Mark stood up. He looked around the darken room. The smoke gone, but the heat, it was still stifling to be in. He could feel the sweat drops on his forehead.
"Mark!, Can you hear me, son?"
Mark's eyes glared wide, he tried to see through the darkness, he called for his father. "I'm here, dad. I'm here." He shouted.
"Why didn't you save him, I told you to take care of your little brother." His father's stern voice rang out. Mark could see him, now. His face in a grim expression. His arms to his side. But Mark could see restrait on his father's part to go to him. His father's hands curled up in fists. His expression became anger. "It's your fault, if you only had listened to me. Did as you were told."
Mark had started to walk towards him, but he stopped. He could see his father reaching for his pants loop. The anger still displayed on his father's face. "Dad, I tried. I tried to save him. Don't you believe me?" His father shook his head, still messing with his belt. Unbuckling it. "I will make sure this won't ever happen, again." his father began walking towards him, in a fast pace. Determined. "You should be thankful that he survived. But he'll never be the same. And It'll be your fault. Him living as he will from now on. All burnt up." Mark shook his head repeatily. "I don't know what you're talking about. I did everything I could. You can't blame me. I didn't burn him. I didn't start the fire!." Mark yells. Throwing his fists up in the air. His father grabbing both his arms with one hand. "Didn't you?" His father slowly, whispers outloud.
Just then, Mark was transported to a hospitial room, he looks around, it was dimly lit. He saw a young boy, he was covered with tubes, Mark walked up to the bed, and the boy. He looked down at him. He felt sorry for the boy. Then the boy spoke. "Mark." he coughed out. Mark shook his head. Looked at the boy's face, it didn't look like Glenn. It couldn't have been him. Mark's tears welled up in his eyes. He grabbed Glenn's arm. He tries to find his hand. His grip must have been to rough for Glenn's delicate condition. Mark could see Glenn's little face expressing pain, his eyes wincing shut. Mark let him go immediately. But the damage was done, Glenn's eyes filled with tears. Mark looked down, he could see Glenn's little arm, the skin was all red and gross. Then Mark looked down at his own hand. What he saw made him want to throw up. It was skin. Mark's eyes shed fresh tears, once more. "I'm so sorry, Glenn."
Hie was back in the old bedroom, now his father's words seemed to fill the whole room, on repeat. "Didn't you, didn't you start the fire, Mark. Didn't you?" Mark tried to get out of father's grasp, which he was somehow back in. "I didn't do this, I didn't start the fire, I didn't" He yells.
Mark sat up, quickly. He almost yelled out his defence, once more. But he caught himself, when he realized that he was awake, not in the dream. He brings both his hands up to his head, he runs both through his hair. He felt like he was going crazy. He didn't know how much more he could take. He goes down stairs, makes himself a pot of coffee.
He stares down at the old black and white photo. His tears dropping down on the table top.
I didn't start the fire. I had nothing to do with it. Why don't you believe me, father.