The Breath of a Guardian

Chapter 2

Dear Diary,

I ate my way through an entire pizza the night that it happened. I remember coming home from school and spotting a note on the refrigerator informing me that my mom was out with another ‘man of the week’ love interest for the weekend. I was used to this so it didn’t bother me that much, but it still hurt that she chose to spend time with a random man she had just met than with me. But I guess I’m just destined to be forever alone, I mean shit my own mother doesn’t even like spending time with me…but anyways getting back on topic. I had spent the night locked in my room jamming out to Avenged Sevenfold, sketching in my sketch book in the dim light of my peppermint scented candle.

At some point I must have nodded off while sketching because several hours later I woke up gasping for air. When I received absolutely no oxygen, I sputtered a series of coughs and felt an uncomfortable warmth on my skin. I turned my attention in the direction of the heat source, which was located near my doorway. I was drenched in sweat and my room was filled with smoke. The candle that I had lit somehow had fallen over to spring a fire up in my room. Immediately I began to panic because the fire was large enough to block my only way out. What the hell was I supposed to do? There was absolutely no hope of putting it out. It was already taller than me and the flames licked the air, almost tasting the ceiling. I could do nothing but try to find another way out.

I thought maybe I could charge through the fire, like you see bad ass mother fuckers do on television. I knew I would have to use something to open the door with because the door knob would be hot as hell. So in a panicked frenzy, I pulled the shirt off of my torso and wrapped my hand in it. I opened my window to diminish the amount of smoke in my room so I could breathe a little easier. I sucked in a good amount of air from outside, sticking my head out the window in the process. Looking down from my room at the apartment complex I lived in, I was five stories up. I contemplated escaping from my window, however the logical part of my brain kicked in telling me that I would fall five stories down to my death and bits of me would splattered all over the sidewalk. No. Jumping wasn’t an option.

I turned around to face my new enemy that had always been my friend and escape route in years past. I was a huge pyromaniac and I loved fire. I loved to watch it, to play with it, and to admire it. I found serenity in its warmth and beauty. But now it had decided to betray me. The flames had reached the edge of my bed and the ceiling showered down overhead forcing me to throw my arms up to shield my head from getting injured. The smoke grew more intense and I coughed up a storm. I tried to force myself to burst through the flames and get myself out of there before I died a horrible death. But every time I got up the courage, the flames and heat grew more intense. I lost my sense of bravery and the fire eventually backed me up against my window. I leaned against it as the heat grew in intensity, burning blisters into my skin. My flesh began to bubble from the abuse of its heat and the pain became unbearable. I was burning alive. Soon I would be ashes and I couldn’t stop the inevitable.

I was suffocating. It seemed like every ounce of life was being baked out of me and I was drowning in the smoke. I came to the conclusion that I was going to die. I knew it. And I couldn’t stop it. My eyes leaked tears of sorrow and regret and I turned my back to the flames. I hoped up on the windowsill and decided enough was enough. If I was going to die, I was going to end it now, fast and easy. I couldn’t wait to be dead if the remainder of the last few moments of my life was going to be slow and painful and filled with agony.

Whispering a prayer of hope to God, I leapt out of my window, leaving behind the flames and the memories. Four seconds later it was lights out.

I awoke in the back of what looked to be an ambulance strapped to a gurney, they had an oxygen mask on my face and they had me hooked up to all kinds of beeping monitors and IV’s. I started to panic and squirm around trying to get released from the straps, the lady sitting next to me grabbed a needle filled with some kind of medicine and injected it straight into my neck, and within seconds my body was paralyzed.

I got out of the hospital two days later. I heard rumors about having to get a skin graph for my flesh burns. Apparently half of my face had melted and most of my hair was singed off. But in a couple of days, my skin had healed itself miraculously and my hair grew back down to my shoulders. It was longer than it had been even before the fire and now it was a deep maroon color instead of the natural brownish red it had always been. They let me go since the skin graph was no longer required and I seemed to be just fine in health.

Now that I’m out of the hospital, I found that fire doesn’t burn me anymore. I felt compelled to stick my hand in a fireplace the other day and it didn’t burn at all and ceased to harm me not. It seemed to follow my hand in fact, and the smoke rolling off of it danced around in riveting sequences. It was so odd.

I think about it now and ask why I didn’t die when I jumped five stories out a window onto a concrete sidewalk. I should have been splattered everywhere, making beautiful art with my blood against its white-gray canvas. So how come I’m still alive? I don’t know. But the shit I can do with my old love is the shit. Fire may have betrayed me once, but it was still my best friend.

-Pyra

Dear Diary,

It’s been awhile old chap…not really sure how to even put the events of what happened to me into words. I mean I know what happened, but I just don’t know how to put it into words. I don’t even think there are words to describe it. Long story short, I shouldn’t be here right now due to me being beaten to death in a mosh pit at the concert of one of my favorite bands.

I was in London seeing Sleeping with Sirens. It was a mistake to go alone. I knew that, but I went regardless. I couldn’t miss Kellin Quinn and all his sexy glory now could I? No. I was rocking out to “Fire”, devil horns in the air and jumping to beat of the drums when I felt the backlash of the circle pit to my right. I was shoved into the person next to me and they shoved me back, knocking me into another person. One thing led to another and series of violent chain reactions developed into a larger mosh pit and I found myself right smack dab in the center of it all. Some American bitch with blue hair and a Monroe piercing punched me square in the jaw. I was like, “Bitch, Please!” I sent a fist flying her way and the cunt ducked, causing me to nail a shady looking guy in the gut. He turned around and grabbed me by the hair, throwing me into one of his buddy’s chest cavity. I was thrown around like a Raggedy Ann doll and beaten to a bloody pulp.

I just remember so much blood and the smell of marijuana that filled my last few breaths of air. I could feel my body losing the fight and I wondered why I didn’t fight back. I froze, like a noob. I lost all consciousness and woke up in a funeral parlor. My injuries were gone and I felt different. I awoke gasping for air, as if I hadn’t taken in oxygen in a long while. I was in an open coffin with nobody around to explain why or what happened, so I sort of just climbed out and left.

When I returned home my family was at odds and told me that I was pronounced dead. My mom and dad then explained that they had me just sitting in the funeral parlor because until they figured out what they wanted to do with my body, because my family doesn’t believe in having the dead bodies embalmed. A few days later I was sitting in the kitchen listening to my ipod and singing along and wanting a glass of water, I was staring at my little brother and all of a sudden without a word he gets up and gets me a glass of water. Hmmm interesting… He sat back down in his seat, looking confused.

“Why did you get me a glass of water for?” I questioned him. He just stared back at me and shrugged. He replied with “I don’t really know. I just felt compelled to for some reason.” Sweet! I have mind control powers! Score!

I heard on the news that day that the blue haired American bitch from the concert that ‘killed me’ had mysteriously survived a fatal plane crash that killed everyone else aboard. Maybe she’s some kind of terrorist? I don’t know. I also heard about some chick surviving falling 14,000 ft and another one that survived a house fire. But what’s with everyone cheating death lately? Shit. Sooner or later, Death is going to get pissed and seek some hardcore vengeance the size of a mountain.

-Macey