51: Home (drabble)
The yellow and gold flutters upwards and licks every part of the house. Somehow in all of this, I manage to find his soot-stained hand and I clasp it.
I don’t look like my house is burning down right now. I look like I’m a bystander to all this. Twenty-three years of memories are going up in flames, and yet here I am, standing like this.
I turn to take a look at him. Twenty-three years of memories seem to be crumbling inside him as well. Tears prick his eyes, line the edges of his eyes ready to fall out. He seems a lot more heartbroken than I do. I tighten my hold on his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice this.
Why am I so dead inside? Did something snuff out my fire before this?
I tun my eyes back to the house. Beams and axles collapse. Beyond the roar of the fire I swear that I can hear the scream of a small child and the barking of a young dog, but these sounds are lost as the basic structure of the house collapses, the embers of a dying fire floating helplessly and aimlessly in the air.
Twenty-three years of memories.