The Conflagration

Chapter 1- The conflagration 1

An uproar of fire burst beside him. Then another explosion behind, sending shards of splinters into his face. He was trapped in the vicious claws of merciless fire. His heart was pounding wildly, deafening all other sounds. He gasped for air as smoke clouded his watering eyes. One chance. Now or never. The flames were beginning to surround him, encircling him as it drew closer, pinning him in its claws until it had wound around him and burned him alive. He leapt over the fire, managing to scald his thigh. Tears squeezed out from his eyes by the smoke and pain, leaving a clear path down his soot stained face. He was free. He worked his legs, mustering every last bit of energy that had been stored in him. He ran as fast as his sore legs could carry him, bars of intense pain running up his scalded legs. He stiffly dodged a loose raft beside him, crumpling from the fire. Another burning raft plunged before his face, and skidded to an abrupt halt. He breathed a sigh of relief, having known that if he had been a second earlier, he would have burned to his grueling death. A little more and he would be free from the hungry flames. He had escaped the fire that had so mercilessly brought down what used to be home; his home. Yet he had not yet escaped the full threat. It had happened all too suddenly. His mind seemed to have dulled, like a small bubble had creased around him, seizing his mind, dulling its senses by a state of shock, with only one prompt message. Run. He could hear the agonizing screams of the villagers and the cackle of the fire, but he could only concentrate on his ragged labored breathing and the uneven pounding of his tensed legs. Perhaps it was a dream. A very bad dream. No, it hurt too much to be a dream. 2

A man was coming at him, an ax raised as a purpose to chop any untoward body in the way. The boy gasped and leapt aside, barely enough to make a safe escape. The boy strained to scramble up with a last endeavor to run, but the man snapped an arm out, tearing at the collar of the boy’s tarred shirt, choking him and driving him forcefully back. The boy grabbed a fistful of soil from the ruined ground and flung it into his captor’s mad eyes. The man roared in fury but held firm, quashing the boy down on his spine with powerful hands. The exhausted boy felt a heavy boot slam into his stomach, making him double over in pain, with the air, and almost his consciousness, knocked out of him. He felt his head being pulled viciously back by his hair. The boy gave out a weary, helpless, strangled cry, and his struggling deceased, knowing that this was his end, and he was excepting this, as horrible as it was. 3

The boy shrank back in terror, making one last meek attempt to free himself from his captor’s wily hands. To his surprise and immediate relief, the raider toppled over, releasing him temporarily. The boy’s eyes went wide with astonishment and relief when he saw his father, gripping a wooden club in his hands. 4

“Go son, GO!” The boy managed to scramble up but stumbled when his legs began to scream in protest. He whirled around at the sound of a groan, parting from the raider’s lips. His father grabbed his arm and shoved him hard. The boy scrambled ahead, ignoring the pain searing through his whole body. The man watched his son disappear behind the thickets. He gripped his club tighter and turned around. 5

The boy was still running. A sudden movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and before he could so much as stutter a gasp, a grimy hand forced down bile liquid into his throat, and then he blacked out.6