In Purifying Flame
Make It On Our Own
He banged on the wall as the flames roared behind him. The crackling sound of the flames was the only thing he could hear.
Someone was on the other side of the wall, banging back to him in an almost comforting way. Telling him that it'd be okay. The fire said differently as it continued to slowly inch its way closer to the wall and inevitably, closer to him.
He could feel the heat getting closer to him, making sweat roll down the back of his neck one drop at a time. He couldn't move from where he was because the rest of the room was covered in flames and the door had been bolted and locked before this whole mess had started. He didn't know who to blame.
The someone on the other side of the wall kept banging back, waiting for a reply from him to let them know that he was still alive. As soon as he stopped banging, even for a minute, they panicked. Their first thought would be that the flames had got him too soon.
They knew that his death was coming but his only hope was them as far as he was concerned and he was hoping that they'd get there soon because there wasn't much more of this he could stand.
He belonged in the world of living rather than the world of death. They knew it and he knew it but it seemed like there wasn't anything that they could really do about it because the fire continued to burn furiously and by now he had salty tears stinging at his eyes with the thought of not getting out of the room.
The banging from his side got less which had the other side bang harder, trying to get him to respond just as well as he had been.
His responses kept dropping until he could barely manage one. He was coughing his lungs out and covered in an almost permanent layer of sweat.
"Remember me!" the person on the other side shouted, trying to get him to understand and recognise who they were. "Remember me!"
But he was already on the floor, eyes closed and breathing shallow with it steadily getting slower. He was all alone in the room except for the flames. They continued burning and crackling as they touched his hair.
He'll just be another memory in the end.
Someone was on the other side of the wall, banging back to him in an almost comforting way. Telling him that it'd be okay. The fire said differently as it continued to slowly inch its way closer to the wall and inevitably, closer to him.
He could feel the heat getting closer to him, making sweat roll down the back of his neck one drop at a time. He couldn't move from where he was because the rest of the room was covered in flames and the door had been bolted and locked before this whole mess had started. He didn't know who to blame.
The someone on the other side of the wall kept banging back, waiting for a reply from him to let them know that he was still alive. As soon as he stopped banging, even for a minute, they panicked. Their first thought would be that the flames had got him too soon.
They knew that his death was coming but his only hope was them as far as he was concerned and he was hoping that they'd get there soon because there wasn't much more of this he could stand.
He belonged in the world of living rather than the world of death. They knew it and he knew it but it seemed like there wasn't anything that they could really do about it because the fire continued to burn furiously and by now he had salty tears stinging at his eyes with the thought of not getting out of the room.
The banging from his side got less which had the other side bang harder, trying to get him to respond just as well as he had been.
His responses kept dropping until he could barely manage one. He was coughing his lungs out and covered in an almost permanent layer of sweat.
"Remember me!" the person on the other side shouted, trying to get him to understand and recognise who they were. "Remember me!"
But he was already on the floor, eyes closed and breathing shallow with it steadily getting slower. He was all alone in the room except for the flames. They continued burning and crackling as they touched his hair.
He'll just be another memory in the end.