Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 49 - GIRL ON FIRE

Dad was by the door when I got home. He looked at me like I was someone else, mouth slightly open, dish towel hanging from his hand. I didn't stop walking. Inside, the house smelled like fried garlic and disinfectant. Claire's slippers weren't there anymore. The silence stretched differently. I didn't ask where she went.

I walked to my room. Dropped the bags onto the bed. A pair of sunglasses rolled out and hit the floor. I sat. The mattress dipped under me. The fan spun above, ticking slightly with each turn. The hum of it matched the faint sound of a passing jeep outside. I can't stay still... I turned left and right, then on my back, the on my stomach.

Then I stood and walked to the window. Watched the world go on like it makes sense. Across the street, a man on a bike balanced two plastic bags on his handlebars. A kid dragged a backpack twice his size down the sidewalk. A delivery truck reversed with a beeping that cut through the noise like clockwork. A dog barked once, then twice. I watched a laundry line sway. Shirts, moving without resistance. The stoplight at the corner turned red. The cars obeyed. Lined up. Waited. Moved again.

I marveled again in the order outside. Things responded when they were told. Things followed rules. Inside me, it was all just... static. I picked up my phone from the desk. It felt cold. I hadn't touched it all day. Tucked behind the case, there was a picture. I slid it out. The edges were slightly bent. The two of us, me and James, smiling at something I can't remember anymore. The sunlight in the photo made it look warmer than it felt now. My hand looked smaller next to his. I hated that I noticed that.

I stared at it. For a long time, I just... stared.

Then, without thinking much, I began tearing it. Clean down the middle, then across the face. My fingers moved fast, like muscle memory. Rip. Rip. Rip. Until it was nothing but scraps. I gathered them in my palm, pressed them into a crumpled ball. I stood, walked to the door, and dropped it into the trash bin beside it. The pieces made a soft sound when they landed, like falling leaves. I didn't look back.

That night, the dream returned, sharper, darker. I was standing in a field, but it wasn't peaceful. The tall grass around me swayed like a restless sea, its golden waves tinged with ash. The air was thick, heavy, like breathing through a curtain of smoke. Every inhale burned my lungs, every exhale tasted of charred earth.

The sky above was a bruised purple, cracked by streaks of lightning that flickered without thunder. Shadows twisted and stretched, warped by the flickering light of distant flames. The heat was suffocating, pressing down like a weight I couldn't lift. I opened my mouth to scream. But my voice, raw and ragged, was swallowed by the thick smoke.

"Anybodyyyy!!!" I shouted, desperation clawing at my throat.

Only my echo answered, mocking, hollow, fading into nothing. Panic curled inside me like a living thing, sharp and suffocating. And then I noticed, the fire. It wasn't just burning the grass. It was alive, crawling up my legs, licking my skin with tongues of heat that seared through every nerve. My clothes caught flame, the fabric crackling like dry leaves. I tried to step back, to run. But my feet were rooted in scorched earth, the fire spreading, climbing. I looked down and saw my hands, smoldering, glowing red. The flames raced up my arms, and suddenly, I realized: I was the source. I was the wildfire, the destruction, the endless blaze consuming everything. Heat surged through me, a terrible power and a terrible curse.

I screamed again, but this time the sound was a ragged whisper, choked and broken. The fire closed in, swallowing the field, the sky, my breath, until all that remained was burning silence. I woke with a start, my chest heaving, breath ragged and shallow. The room was dark and silent, but the heat from the dream still clung to my skin like a second layer, sticky and oppressive. My heart pounded so loud I thought it might burst through my ribs. I sat up, my hands trembling as they hovered over the thin sheet, feeling the cool fabric trying to soothe the fire inside me that the dream had sparked. But nothing could put out this blaze.

Outside my window, the streetlights cast long shadows over the quiet street, their dull glow unable to cut through the thick fog of confusion inside my mind. I pressed my palms against my face, hoping to wipe away the burning sensation, not just on my skin but deep in my chest, where the dream's flames still raged. The air in the room felt stale, heavy with silence. No comfort, no answers.

I wanted to scream again, but the words got stuck somewhere in my throat, tangled with the ash and smoke of that nightmare. So instead, I lay back down, staring at the cracked ceiling, waiting for the fire inside me to die out, or for the dawn to come and drown it all in light. The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, painting pale streaks across my ceiling. My eyes stayed fixed on the cracks, tracing them like they held some secret map I needed to follow. The burning sensation in my chest had dulled, but the heaviness remained, a weight pressing down on every part of me, dragging me deeper into silence. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to think. But the world outside was already stirring. Birds chirping faintly, cars humming in the distance, the subtle rhythm of life going on as if nothing had changed.

I slid out of bed, feet cold against the floor. The room felt strange, too quiet, too empty. I walked to the window and watched the neighborhood slowly come alive. A few people walking dogs, the mail carrier doing her rounds, a kid riding his bike with reckless joy.

Normalcy. It made me feel even more detached, like I was an observer, not part of this world anymore. I leaned my forehead against the glass, trying to anchor myself. But the edges of reality blurred, and the fire inside me whispered that maybe I was already burning from the inside out.