Candle “Honey? Honey? Wake up, I smell smoke.” I immediately woke up and scanned the room, giving myself one heck of a whiplash in those three seconds before I finally raced out of bed with the tickling smell of smoke filling my brain. My husband was dancing around trying to put on a straggled pair of slip-ons and I was reaching out for my robe. And then crash sounded from downstairs followed by a clatter and then a clash of glass bursting glass and the sounds of things coming undone. “We need to get out now!” he yells and then grabs my arm to lead me out of the room. We start to race down the carpeted stairway and to our dismay, we witnessed flames licking the ceiling downstairs in the kitchen and now in the process of migrating into the living room. Our home once white and pure now drenched in heat and fire. The front door, the simplistic exit, barricaded by a wall of blazes. There is no easy way out. “Come on!” he yells once again and pulls me upstairs. I am dragged though because my eyes are locked on the walls with the pictures and paintings. They are melting and becoming dust and I am watching it all unfold. I let out a whimper and then realize I am bringing us down. We can always get new pictures, but not the paintings. They were Cole’s original pieces, but he was less than concerned because he is carrying me in and out of each of the 3 rooms. This house is new to us, we merely moved in two months ago. Everything is still so unfamiliar and foreign. The only option now was a window, but the fall would be fatal. Why didn’t we think of an escape route sooner? We started coughing from the smoke and Cole was rapidly growing tired. I tried to pry myself down from his arms but the hold was a dead lock. “Cole,” I sniveled into his chest—so quiet, almost silent. I probably said it in my head. “There are no trees by any of these god forsaken windows, we need to make a rope.” He announced. When we made it to our room, he set me down and my lungs were irritated from the smoke—I didn’t want to think how bad off Cole’s lungs were. I was growing tired and he noticed. “Carrie, focus! Start gathering your T-shirts and pants and whatever else and tie them together! We need to make a rope!” He was tying his pants together and I couldn’t help but to think of Rapunzel. Oh Rapunzel, let down your long hair. I started on the rope and in 10 seconds we got about 10 feet of rope going. And then my gaze averted to the door. The flames were dancing up the stairs. “Cole!” I scream, pointing toward the immediate danger. He jumps up the shut the door, like that would protect us forever. The fire was over now, we could lay back down now and go to sleep—deal with the fire in the morning. My head was spinning and flying at the same time. “No, no, no, no, no Carrie, don’t lie down, stick your head out the window and breathe!” I was so tired though. I was so weightless. I heard more shattering and then through clouded eyes I saw Cole busting the window with a bat he had under the bed. The bat was meant to protect us from burglars, not house fires. I did as he told and stumbled over to the window and stuffed my head outside. Cole went back to working on the rope and my brain was coming back to me again. But then my chest hurt and my face itched with blood. I looked up at the jagged remaining glass protruding from the window and realized I cut myself. Now it was starting to sting. I took a deep breath and then came back to help finish the rope. He was sweating and coughing, his eyes were blood shot and filled with smoke. “Cole, go get air,” I pulled the rope from his hands and he took it back. “No, let’s go!” He stumbled toward the window, his body noticeably growing worn from the smoke and survival. Was I losing him? Would this be it? He shoved the rope out the window and I knew then the fire ripped through the door and made it inside the room. I heard the flames crackle and devour everything in its path. “Come on, Carrie!” and I started to shimmy out of the window, keeping hold of my denim jeans and his plaid dress shirts he wears to work. Only work though; never for anything else. He wore T-shirts for everything else. I slid down and kept my eyes on his as he held the rope taut. I worked my way down to darkness and safety. This is impossible, we have to be dead by now. There is no way we could survive this. I was killing him the more I slithered down this rope and so without fear of the unknown distance to the earth, I let go. I could deal with broken bones and fractures and concussions. I could not deal with Cole dying. With a thud, I landed. Looking up, I saw that he was gone. Panic burnt through my body. “COLE!” I screamed, and then I turned over with fits of coughing. My lungs felt like they were bleeding. My eye sight was leaving me but I willed that away. “Cole!” I tried again, but I knew this time it didn’t come out. My mouth rather formed the ‘O’ shape and then I laid my head down. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I broke my feet, I’m sure of it. This was over. All of it. Maybe I could sink myself into the ground and decay here. But then a flicker of movement came from the window. He was coming. He was working his way sloppily and beautifully down the rope. He was the true emblem of hope, defiance against the elements, and the saving grace all at the same time. He was coming. He gave up mid-way and fell to the ground. With all I had, I crawled over to him and kissed his face millions and billions of times. My mouth and throat couldn’t form words but I could form kisses. He wasn’t moving and his eyes were shut. I pumped his chest and gave what was left of my lungs down his mouth. This isn’t how we were supposed to end. I was not using my body to fight his. I was using my will. My body quit long ago. Cole wake up, I thought. He wasn’t waking up. I heard the tinny sounds of fire and ambulance trucks but I didn’t have the energy to care. Nothing else mattered except to get Cole’s lungs pumping air once more. My efforts were not working and he was not moving or breathing. Come on Cole, I thought, I am breathing for you and you need to hold your end of the deal. I pressed my fingers to his neck to search for a pulse. I didn’t feel anything at first, but as I lay down beside him, I felt the slow beats ricochet into my fingertips and then for the first time in a long time, I was satisfied. I looked up to the sky and watched as the stars and moon faded in and out, like the dwindling flame of a tired candle.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Nov 2014 06:35:10 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015