A Fire Within

Chapter One

Silas Meaning: Wood, of the Forest

I hear a scream. It rings painfully throughout the hallway, making my eardrums ache. Maybe it's just someone messing around, I try to convince myself, but that scream sounds too realistic. Then another scream. And another. Finally, it's like there's a whole symphony of people screaming and I slap my hands against my ears, trying to block out the distressing noise. My heart pumps faster against my chest as if the blood pulsing from it is my fear, flowing throughout my body

I begin to wildly sprint to my Science class, hands still over my ears. When I look inside one of the rectangular windows on the door, I find chaos commencing. My friends, other students, and my teacher are racing around the room, not giving any thought to any pain they might have when they run into things. The emergency shower is on, blasting water onto the floor and the bodies trying to stay underneath the cool current.

Their skin is a glossy pink, almost vermilion, and everybody's head has no hair to be found. I yank on the door handle, but it doesn't yield to my desperate efforts. As I am doing this, my classmates realize that I am standing right outside the door, and they begin slamming their hands against the door's windows, leaving what looks like bloody streaks behind and wailing at me to open the door.

"Silas, please, please!" My best friend, Kenyon, yells. About ten minutes ago, he had blond hair that always managed to stay in shape when girls messed with it. Now, he has a gruesomely bright, lobster redhead.

"Open the door! Open it! Now!" A girl named Toril thunders. I frantically ram my shoulder against the door. I don't notice the fearful tears beginning to pool in my eyes as I slowly realize that the door isn't going to open. I repeatedly slam myself against the door, until I fall, exhausted, and then, I become aware, that while I've been accomplishing nothing, everybody in the classroom has dropped to the floor. I scramble backwards and practically throw myself at the classroom door across from mine. Different people, same dilemma. I scramble over to the next door, and the next.

"Help! Anybody! Just fucking help them!" I scream down the hallway. Nobody answers. There isn't even a scream, groan, or sob. It's completely silent. Where are all the people who were in the halls like me? I suddenly have an idea; I pull out my phone and dial 911. I wait for someone to pick up, impatiently tapping my index finger on the bottom of my flip phone. No one picks up. I call again, but, just as before, no one picks up.

"What the fuck is going on? What is this?" I fling my phone down the hallway and it slides beside my classroom. I start to run again, and when I reach the door, I make the mistake of grabbing the handle to stop myself. I wrench my shoulder and fall down in front of the door. It's then that I see the red fingers sticking out from underneath it. I look through the window closest to ground level and see Kenyon, raising his forehead on the window. His eyes are gone and his cheeks are so sunk in they could become transparent at any second, along with the problem of his blistering and burning skin. Burning. They're all burning.

As the shock sets in, I reach out and grasp Kenyon's fingers with my own, but I almost let go when I feel scalding hot pain on my fingers wherever I'm touching him. I don't let go because he is my friend, one of my only friends, and he's... Dying.

"Don't be afraid Kenyon. I'll stay right here." I squeeze his finger tips, almost gasping at the pain this is causing me.

Kenyon seems to smile, but it looks like some twisted horror movie effect. I shut my eyes and concentrate on not letting go of his fingers. This feels like some Titanic bromance movie... And then I inwardly scold myself. I feel like I'm betraying him somehow by not watching his last breaths, but he can't see me and I don't want to see him.

Unexpectedly, his hand goes limp, and his fingers start to feel a little hard. The burning sensation leaves. I already know what is now left in my hand, and I slowly let go. I stand up, but collapse back onto the ground in a matter of seconds as my stomach heaves up the contents from my breakfast. As my sickness finally comes to an end, I take the deep breaths that I so greatly needed. I stiffly crawl away from my puddle of upchuck and stomach acid and lean against a locker, tears blurring my vision. I wait until I don't feel so dizzy, and then stand up, wiping away my puke and tears from my face. I try to understand what I have to do now, as I sway on my shaky legs, but all I can come up with is the doors. Can they open now? I stumble towards my classroom door and place my hand upon the handle. I take a moment and then, weakly, I turn the handle and pull. The door opens a crack, then stops. It's gotten caught on Kenyon's hand. Actually, it isn't really his hand anymore, I suppose. He's dead. Why would he need a hand? For some reason, this thought amuses me and I laugh as I use my foot to nudge the bones back under the door. Then, still laughing, I swing the door open all the way and stroll inside. I had meant to just see if the door would open, but I feel like to honor all these deaths, I have to make out the different people. Even when I'm laughing at dead people, I have morals.