Foolish and Old

When you wake up and look around and smell the smoke and see the bright blue flame snaking down through the ceiling you’re impressed aren’t you? But you don’t believe it, do you?

“Did I do this?” The old man asked rising from his chair.

You don’t know where the door is, do you? Did you ever make a mental not of where the fire escapes are? No, and now you’re about to die in a flea-bag hotel. You're going to leave nothing behind but black charred bones?

“Not like this!” the man screamed. He could taste burning paint.

You feel the heat now, don’t you,? Do you see the light yet?

He could hear glass breaking.

That’s the windows, Harry! Blowing out from this little shit-hole you pay for by the week.

“God?” Harry asked. He was on his knees trying to breath through cupped hands.

Don’t be a twit! Do you really believe in God, Harry? You think God believes in you?

“I can’t breath!” Harry gasped, trying to stand. He could see nothing but a dark blue flame spreading across the ceiling. He fell back to the thread-bare rug.

You need air, Harry! Run for the window! You haven't spoken to your daughter in thirty-two years, Do you even remember her name?

“Angela!” Harry roared. "She doesn't speak to me!"

Get off your knees! Be brave, Harry! Go for the window--you're only two stories up. Jump, Harry! Hope for the best. It's all you have left

Harry rose and began running blindly for the other side of the room, hoping for the window, hoping to jump clear, hoping for the best.

297 words--