Fire

Fayth silently wept over the grave of her best friend, Hilary, a purple tulip resting between her fingers in a gently touch. Her black hair tickled her face and arms as she stood there in the graveyard as the sun set, casting rays of fiery red all around the chilly girl. Her shadow was cast over the grave, and for a startled moment she had the strangest feeling that her own shadow looked like the shadow of Hilary, how she stood when she was embarrassed or nervous, slightly slouched and timid. 1

It was the end of the school day, and like every Monday night, she would walk to her friend's grave, a mile away, and rest her favourite flowers upon the grass. Constantly she had found rubbish scattered around the forgotten grave, and she worked hard to keep it clean, the best looking grave in the whole of the graveyard, though no one saw her, the graveyard was completely forgotten by everyone apart from herself, and Hilary's Mum and little Sister.2

She remembered how her friend had come to pass away, but tried to blot it out of her mind, focus herself on the grave. She rubbed her chilled arms, letting her green eyes waver upon the name on the grave, Hilary Summer. She traced her scars unconsciously, rubbing over their white marks upon her skin, staring so hard she felt her eyes water. With a whisper 'Goodbye...', she dropped the flower upon the grass, placing a small round stone over it to keep the wind from blowing it away. Picking up her school bag, she looked around her quickly, making sure that no one was there to watch her brake down in tears.3

An hour or two later she was coming up the path to her small three bed-roomed house. She opened the door, setting down her bag by the shoes. Her mother was asleep on the couch, no doubt she'd been awake until almost seven in the morning and needed rest. She went up to her room straight away, not letting a sob break through her lips until her door was firmly shut and locked, and her T.V was on pretty loud. It was almost four years ago that Hilary had gone, four years tomorrow. Her birthday was in two weeks time, and she wished she could celebrate her friend's birthday like anyone Else's birthday, but she couldn't. Once or twice she'd planned to tell someone that she knew Hilary, that she cared, that she needed someone to talk to, but every time her chance came, her mouth went dry and her words would never catch the air. 4

Once or twice she had thought about suicide, imagining the freedom from this burden, knowing for once she wouldn't be able to feel any pain, but there were things stopping her. Her friends, her mother and father. Although when she visited the graveyard she was quiet and secluded, depressed and hurt, when she was at school and home, she was like every other normal girl, funny, happy, bubbly. Her friends, she knew, would greatly miss her if she died, and she knew some of them might not be able to cope, but maybe that was just wishful thinking, maybe they wouldn't miss her...She didn't know, but then again, you never know until it's happened, but still then you never know, you never get to see the looks of their faces, but she could imagine. Floods of tears, happiness turning into the same kind of depression and hurting that she knew so well, or happy faces staying happy, a mere 'Oh well.' to kiss her life goodbye.5

Suddenly she couldn't cope with her own thoughts anymore, and she knew she had to get herself away from the pain, the dreams, back into reality, the only thing that was proof she was still breathing. She took the often bloodstained knife from her cupboard, remembering with slight humor the first time she had taken the knife, her mother had been so fussy about losing a knife with her little cousin in the house that day, but she never found it again. She looked hard as she retraced the scars across her arm, slicing the white open and dying it crimson with her soul, and suddenly she couldn't help thinking about her lost friend.6

Almost four years ago, her friend had been trapped in her house, when her mother had left the cooker on to answer the phone. She had been reading a book, on the phone to Fayth, when the smoke began to rise from downstairs, shrouding the rooms in the thick dust, smothering her mothers voice, who was crying for her children. Hilary became hysterical when she tried to unlock her door, realising it was jammed. Her father was in the other room, grabbing up her little sister, her banged for ages on the door of Hilary's room as she sank to the floor, the air slicing open her lungs with every breath, filling her with poison. Eventually the father ran away, dragging his child with him, leaving poor Hilary to die amongst the flames that licked up her clothes, lapping up her skin which shrivelled and burnt. Her father died of lung poisoning.7

And then Fayth was up, throwing down her scissors on the floor, hating herself, hating everyone, thinking it was their fault she kept it a secret. They wouldn't have understood, she knew, and now she couldn't go back. There was an extremely busy street opposite her house, she planned to end her life as quickly as possible, all she'd have to do was walk out in front of the number forty three, and everything would be OK.8

But suddenly she smelt smoke, thick smoke that rose up through the cracks in her door, filling the room within seconds.9

"Mum!?" She screamed, backing away from the door, trying to open the window with her back to it.10

"MUM!?" She screamed so loud that her head became dizzy, and that was when she knew she was going to die. It wasn't that much of a shock, since she had been planning on dying anyway, but this was the way her best friend had gone...suffering whilst her parents and the fire brigade could do nothing...burning bit by bit, being sliced up inside by cloudy poison.11

"...No..." She gasped, her senses and mind shutting down from the fear of her worst nightmare about to come true. But it was real now, there was no one there to help her. 12

"No! No please! No..." She broke down in sobs, turning around and banging on the windows so hard it shattered slightly, cutting through her hands, adding to the blood on her arm. 13

"No...please..." No one would ever hear her thoughts, no one would be able to save her, no one would ever hear her voice again...no one would ever save her...no one would ever love her. No one would ever know how much she loved Hilary...and it was these thoughts that spread dizziness throughout her mind, her body shutting down, her throat closing up, trying not to inhale the ash...trying to stay alive...14

As she slowly fell unconcious, a silver tear fell from her closing green eyes, fell onto the already charred wooden floor, and when teh fire was put out, the only evidence that Fayth had even existed, was the silver tear...15