I have died everyday waiting for you
Chapter 1:
I think it was the smell of gasoline that finally woke my sister up. That's the problem with sharing a room- you're never alone.
"Hol? What are you doing?" Her voice had the groggy quality mine always gets when I first wake up.
I remember laughing at the question; wasn't it obvious what I was doing? I was drenched in the gasoline I'd siphoned off from the lawn mower mere minutes ago, shaking. Instead of answering her, I turned around and continued looking for my lighter.
"Holly?" It sounded like she'd gotten out of bed this time, but I still didn't turn. I was too focused on what I was doing. I picked up a dirty shirt and threw it out of the way, revealing the little red lighter. I snatched it and tried to make my way out of the room.
"Holly, stop! What's that smell? Are you ok?" Presley made a grab for my arm, and I shoved her back roughly.
"Let me out!" I yelled at her, my voice not sounding like my own. My eyes flashed and she stumbled back to let me pass, coughing.
"What are you doing?" My twin cried out. There was that question again. It irritated me. What was I doing? What was she doing? I had the answer to peace and I was going to take it. I just wished I had remembered to bring the lighter outside with me so Presley didn't have to see the resolute decision flash so honestly in my eyes. Her own eyes grew wide as she saw the secrets hidden in mine and I turned out the bedroom door and into the hall, unable to stand it any longer.
I fled down the stairs, clutching the lighter in my hand like an ironic lifeline. I made my way through the house, pausing only slightly when I heard my sister's hysterical scream.
"MOM! MOM, wake up!"
Not long now. I know I thought that. Those three words were the only things that kept me going out through the back door and into the driveway. I slipped a little in the puddle of gasoline near the empty canister next to the mower.
The night was soundless outside. Inside my house, lights were turning on rapidly, including the light above the garage where I, the gasoline, and the lawn mower were currently waiting. The unnatural yellow light shone upon my skin, making me hate how white I was. I looked too vulnerable. After this night, I remember swearing, I would never look that vulnerable again. Nobody would ever do that to me again.
"Not long now," I croaked out, just to hear something besides quiet panic. I flicked the lighter, my heart beating faster and faster. This was it- the peace I had tried to seek everyday for the last year.
When the spark didn't light, I flicked it again anxiously. Now that I had made up my mind, I wanted it to be over quickly. The spark didn't light a second time and I let out a hiss.
I shook the lighter just when I started to hear distant sirens. Through the numbness I registered that my mother had probably called for help. In the rotten lighting, I held up the lighter and shook it again, more frantically this time. A miniscule amount of lighter fluid rocked back and forth.
It would be enough, it had to be. Like the little engine that could, my little red lighter would catch fire. I flicked the wheel again and the spark fizzled out just as before.
The sirens were getting louder now, as was the beating panic of my heart. I blinked back tears of pure torture and flicked the wheel a fourth time, muttering nonsense words underneath my breath.
Presley came running out of the house, that much I knew. But this next part is where I forget, because the fourth time the lighter fluid catches. It catches the spark, it catches the gasoline on my hand, and it catches my skin.
The fear of the unknown, the scorching and indescribable pain of literally being burned alive. The frustration because it did not work. I am not dead. The sirens came and saved me in a halo of red and blue and white, which hurt my nose and put out the flames on my skin.
Frustration that, despite my best efforts, my heart remained beating.
And If I screamed, I honestly don't remember.