a burning shed by Cassie Santos

Oh crap, I’m so dead. I watched the fire engulf the shed. The flames danced vigorously, reaching high above the roof. An old graying bench up against the side shed and all the potted plants around it folded under the heat. The faded paint on the garden gnomes melted, all the color dripping onto the blackened dirt leaving behind blank faces. The single owl statue with the chipped beak on top of the shed's doorway, stared back at me. Its eyes were accusatory; it saw everything. The roof gave way from under it. The owl bounced off the ground and broke into three large pieces. One of the pieces stopped and rested against the broken door of the shed. The eyes, intact. The eyes were still staring at me, knowing. Then I felt it again. The weight, the presence, the lingering rage blasting at me. I had to, nobody can know.

The high pitch of a siren sang out from a distance. Time to go. I turned away from the fire. As I walked away I felt the heat reach out for me. The warmth brushed my arms, igniting the ache from the blistered skin. The soaked grass below my feet made a squishy noise, then created a suction on my shoes, trying to hold me back. The creaks and groans of the shed raged louder with every step I took. The wind whispered into my ears a gentle hum that contradicted the hot rage popping and spitting from the flames behind me, demanding my attention. The weight became heavier, angry that I would walk away.

The heat at the back of my neck never let up, no matter how many steps I took. Once I got back to the main road, I made my way back to the bridge where it all began. My arms itched, and my knees shook, as I got closer to the old wooden bridge. It was barely wide enough for a single car to go over it at a time. The skid marks leading up to the bridge were still bold against the faded asphalt. I walked over to the center and looked down over the side. The water level had dropped drastically since that night.

…

Before

I wiggle my sweaty toes, feeling the dirt trapped in my wool socks rubbing uncomfortably at my skin. The heat creeps up my neck and wraps around it like a tight turtleneck sweater. The thick air burns as it forces my lungs to expand while my heart drums a steady chorus in my ears. The smoke makes it so I can’t see anything more than five feet in front of me. I can hear the trees around me cracking and giving into the flames. I cough violently and continue along the path.

Suddenly I hear a howl from my right. “Bodie?” I call out. Bark. “Bodie!” I scream in the general direction. Moments later a golden retriever appears in front of me, tail wagging. “Oh my god,” I gasp, “Hi buddy.” My tears cut through the ashes glued to my cheeks. “We got to go,” I tell him and scope him into my arms. I begin to retrace my steps trying to get back to the road where I left the car.

It’s been too long. I should be back to the road by now. “Shit,” I spit out. I’m lost. I pick up my pace. Moving faster through the trees. There's an orange hue, now that the embers are floating about sticking to everything. My foot catches on an exposed rock and I stubble landing on my knees. I wince, pulling air through my teeth. Bodie whines. I grip him closer to my chest as I get back up.

My knee aches. My lungs burn. I don’t know how long it’s been. “Here we go, we can do this,” I say. “I got you, I got you.” I have to keep going.

I break through the trees, and see the bridge. Relief floods my veins. I force my legs to carry me to the road. My feet hit the pavement and I rush to the bridge. Headlights cut through the thick smoke, lighting up everything around us. I frantically wave my arm, praying that the car will see us standing on the bridge and stop. The car is moving too fast. The brakes scream. The impact is swift, sending us into the air. I feel Bodie leave my arms before gravity pulls me down, submerging us both beneath the surface. The water engulfs my ears, silencing the violent dance of the flames. For a moment I feel weightless. Then there's nothing.

…

Present

I watch from the bottom of the lake as she looks over the temporary metal rail of the bridge. She looks older. Her hair is dark against her pale skin. Her eyes are muted green.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Like she knows I’m there. “It’s gone.”

I’m behind her now. I reach out to her and place my hand on her back. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps. I can feel her blistered arms throbbing. I’m not gone.

Cassie Santos is a 22 year old Biology major, who enjoys wearing her clogs year round, and watches way too much Bob's Burgers, allegedly. Her only coffee order is a tall peppermint mocha from Starbucks, no exceptions. And although animals do seem to gravitate towards her, she cannot sing, so being a Disney Princess is off the table. Her goal is to become a doctor, but her hope is to be the kind of person that is there for others and to give people the space they need to ask for help.