Day #11 – by Amber Averay (a continuation from Day #10):
This time my return to consciousness was swifter, hitting me with the abruptness of a striking shark, and was all the more disorienting for it. My eyes shot open, light searing into the retinas and dragging a groan of agony from my parched throat.
Slamming my palms over my eyes – eyes that now refused to shut, to even blink – I pressed the heels of my hands into the sockets, massaging with enough pressure that the resulting ache was almost relief, and took a moment to just wallow: in pain, in misery, allowing self-pity to wash over me.
Why did I never do the sensible thing? Most would call it common sense – something that really is no longer common – but my gut told me there was something different, something unique, about the fire and its origins, and I had to investigate.
Why didn’t I heed you? I lamented, picturing the burned, soot-streaked man commanding me to leave… I should have listened… I froze, that word reverberating around in my head. Listen…listen…listen…
I froze, curling my hands into fists and calming my frantic breathing. I froze there, and I listened – to the distant sounds of static, like a car radio stuck between stations; to the popping crackle of flames gnawing upon kindling in a hearth; to the murmur of voices, so low they were almost a soothing hum.
That sense of familiarity, of calm, frightened me more than anything I’d yet experienced.
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