vent 1

The boy stood there. He didn't move, didn't answer to his friend as they screamed on the top of their lungs for someone, *anyone* to save them. He wanted to scream back, but it was as if someone had struck his throat with a bat that didn't allow him to speak, even through healthy lungs. All he could do was stare at the flames and the rubble of what used to be his home. He doesn't understand fully what caused it, but one second he was in his room with his best friend, and the next, he's out in the cold watching and listening to the last moments of his friends and family. He had a chance; he could have saved them. He was too much of a coward, though. The flames reflected in his almost emotionless eyes as the crackle of the fire roared at him, telling him that he deserved to be in that fire a hundred times more than anyone else in that house.

Minutes passed, but each passing second felt like an hour. He didn't know what to do and so he simply stared into the red, orange, and yellow shades demolishing his home. Everyone he had ever loved was now gone in the fire, being burned into nothing but ash and rubble just like the house. Hours passed; his legs burned underneath him as he stood in place, completely frozen. His hands were cold despite the fire being so close- so in his face that he even debated walking into it, accepting his fate and identity as some wimpy, useless nobody. The house, or what was left of it, had been far from everywhere and everyone else. His mother loved the peace and quiet, which is why she picked the place. His sister and friend were more rowdy, however, and that set her on edge due to his loud friend staying the weekend, their parents out of town. It took only so long before someone had finally shown up and called the police. The boy didn't even spare a glance at them and instead his eyes stayed put on the now dying flames.

When the cops arrived, they grabbed the boy. He was put into a state of sudden panic and thrashed in their grip, finally finding the strength to cry and scream for the ones he cared for most and the ones he would never get back because of his fear. Despite the struggle, he's overpowered and brought to the police station. He knows they suspected him off the bat. He told the truth, just like he was taught, and they let him stay the night. He doesn't sleep. The boy stared at the ceiling, his thoughts engulfing him and putting him through the overwhelming feeling of guilt and pain. He wanted to punch, scream, and sob out loud until his lungs destroyed themselves into oblivion. Why didn't he save them? Why did he have to be this much of a fuck-up? This wasn't some small mistake, like a tear in a blanket or a crack in a pane of glass. This was real and huge and he fucked up more than he was sure anyone was capable of. He lost the ones he loved and he would feel this guilt until the day he died, and every passing day after that.