Smoke.
Thick, heavy smoke which scorches its way through your nostrils, ravenously scraping at the walls of your throat, desperate to seize your lungs completely. You feel hollow, indescribably empty as you watch everything you built. Burn.
Every memory – burnt. Every achievement pinned on your wall – burnt.
All turning to ashes.
Now you’re paralyzed by the heat of the flame.
You blink but you can’t see. The smoke has consumed your eyes.
All you know, is that you’re sitting, knees pressed into your chest, backed up against a wall. Fists clenched, ready to fight, every instinct on edge silently waiting – it’s like you can feel this thing, breathing, watching you as it dances through the room.
Some part of you has broken. The part which pushed everyone away before they got hurt has been destroyed by the flames, because a cry for help rises inside of you. Its sound is too foreign, too disgustingly desperate.
You force yourself onto your feet, grappling through empty air, searching for something to hold onto. One foot in front of the other you tell yourself again and again, until the words become a melody. You think you can finally breathe in the open air; like glimpses of freedom.
A break from reality and now you’re part of the fire.
Pain.
This sharp, red-hot pain that travels from the sole of your feet to your thigh, curling around your muscles and pulling tight.
You shout until your head aches. Until your world spins and feet fumble. You shout like your life depends on it, and you know it does, because the idea of tomorrow petrifies you.
A pause.
Sirens.
Yells. People.
In the distance, but now they are closer.
And instantly loneliness doesn’t feel so alone – you imagine the way they breathe, soft, steady inhales chocked by panic.
Your muscles relax. There’s help.
You listen again.
Silence.
Suddenly you can’t hear any voices.
Your drifting, drifting, drifting away…
Maybe this is what dying feels like? Am I even here?
A slow, precious tranquility, dreamlike but there is nothing to see – only pitch black on the other side. A distant reality where memories are forgotten.
Speakers blast. “Unaccompanied minor. 21st floor of Grenfell Tower. Help is on its way. Stay put.”
But everything seems muted; you’re drowning in a sea of red.
Then there is this voice.
A small, still voice. Just an echo in your head. You hear it whisper a thought, making you look up, “are you for real?”, it says. Your eyes are fixed heavenward. Now there’s a million questions flooding your head.
The flames are around you.
What if there is a God? What if there is a Jesus?
What if there is someone who sees me?
Then there’s this faith. This unexplainable bubble of joy in your stomach. You taste honey in your mouth as your lips form words. No sound.
But a silent prayer of hope.
You grab a towel, cover your mouth.
And run back into reality.