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I kept going until I couldn't hear them screaming anymore. I was the oldest. They were screaming for me.
Serena swears she awakens the the sound of those same screams she heard more than a decade ago, only then there's nothing but silence. Stillness. The family home is as cool as the winter outside, blankets covering Serena's lap and the backs of the horses in the barn nearby. For a moment, she starts to move from the couch she's made her bed – and then realizes.
She's not supposed to be here.
The last time she was here she was choking on smoke and running from noise like a spooked animal searching for sanctuary. Toward the horses and away from – well, away from what was supposed to count. The only thing that was supposed to count. Her family.
The little ones, boys and girls, and of course her parents. They'd been unrecognizable. Buried together like soldiers that had perished in a war instead of what was supposed to be the safety of their home. She could have saved them, she tells herself over and over, she could have run back in and dragged their bodies away from the heat.
But that was more than a decade ago – wasn't it? Just moments ago she was resting her eyes in her bed in Darrow, waiting for George's gurgling to give way to sleep. Just moments ago she was anywhere but here, having thought she'd put all of this behind her... only how could she?
The burn on her back means she could never forget. Every time she showers, every time she glances back at her naked body in the mirror. It doesn't hurt, not anymore, but it doesn't need to. All of the ache is inside her – those moments when she's certain she's heard them call her name again, "Serena, Serena, Serena!", only to be met with silence once more.
Like right now. Somehow, Serena finds the strength to move and look about. There's no sign of George – that terrifies her. She doesn't want to be anywhere he isn't. There's no sign of her siblings, either, not as she heads up the stairs and looks in their beds. She spots a doll that one of the littlest always carried about. It had a name, maybe, but she can't remember it.
She lifts it to her face and inhales. It smells like baby powder and dirt – her sister had carried it everywhere. A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips at the thought and she glances around. It would be so easy to curl up on one of these tiny beds and close her eyes and give into the hurt. To let herself perish as they had in these same rooms – though there's no sign of ash nor embers here.
It would be so easy to give into the hurt, but then there's the sound of movement downstairs and Serena almost trips over her own feet in search of it.
Serena swears she awakens the the sound of those same screams she heard more than a decade ago, only then there's nothing but silence. Stillness. The family home is as cool as the winter outside, blankets covering Serena's lap and the backs of the horses in the barn nearby. For a moment, she starts to move from the couch she's made her bed – and then realizes.
She's not supposed to be here.
The last time she was here she was choking on smoke and running from noise like a spooked animal searching for sanctuary. Toward the horses and away from – well, away from what was supposed to count. The only thing that was supposed to count. Her family.
The little ones, boys and girls, and of course her parents. They'd been unrecognizable. Buried together like soldiers that had perished in a war instead of what was supposed to be the safety of their home. She could have saved them, she tells herself over and over, she could have run back in and dragged their bodies away from the heat.
But that was more than a decade ago – wasn't it? Just moments ago she was resting her eyes in her bed in Darrow, waiting for George's gurgling to give way to sleep. Just moments ago she was anywhere but here, having thought she'd put all of this behind her... only how could she?
The burn on her back means she could never forget. Every time she showers, every time she glances back at her naked body in the mirror. It doesn't hurt, not anymore, but it doesn't need to. All of the ache is inside her – those moments when she's certain she's heard them call her name again, "Serena, Serena, Serena!", only to be met with silence once more.
Like right now. Somehow, Serena finds the strength to move and look about. There's no sign of George – that terrifies her. She doesn't want to be anywhere he isn't. There's no sign of her siblings, either, not as she heads up the stairs and looks in their beds. She spots a doll that one of the littlest always carried about. It had a name, maybe, but she can't remember it.
She lifts it to her face and inhales. It smells like baby powder and dirt – her sister had carried it everywhere. A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips at the thought and she glances around. It would be so easy to curl up on one of these tiny beds and close her eyes and give into the hurt. To let herself perish as they had in these same rooms – though there's no sign of ash nor embers here.
It would be so easy to give into the hurt, but then there's the sound of movement downstairs and Serena almost trips over her own feet in search of it.
