Playing With Fire

My eyes sting from the heat. I blink and rub at them, trying to see what's in front of me, but there's so much smoke I feel blind. And there's a nasty acrid smell that burns my throat as I attempt to breathe. It smells like something very bad is burning, something I shouldn't be inhaling. As I stumble along, I try to hold my breath. I know that I need to escape this placefast!But then I trip over a wooden crate and fall smack down onto what feels like a filthy cement floor. It's sticky and grimy down here with, I'm guessing, years' worth of crud ingrained into the surface. Despite the filth, I think maybe I'm safer down here. I recall a fireman, back when I was little, telling our class that the smoke isn't as bad if you stay low. So I continue searching for the exit, crawling on my hands and knees. The air has gotten so thick that it feels like I'm fighting my way through a heavy curtain of murky darkness. I pull the neck of my T-shirt up over my face in an attempt to cover my nose and mouth. I can't see a thing except for the eerie red glow off to my left, and I need to get away from thatit's dangerous, deadly, and evil. I must keep moving in the opposite direction of the fire. My time is limited, and I need to get out of here now! Shards of glass cut into my hands and knees as I creep along, and I keep bumping into cardboard boxes and plastic bottles and other sorts of unknown debris cluttering the place. It seems as if someone has been in here knocking things over, throwing things about, creating a huge mess that has become my obstacle course...or perhaps my deathtrap if I don't escape. I can't give up I tell myself as I continue navigating through my smoky prison. There must be a door somewhere. If I got into this place, there has to be a way out. I just wish I knew where it is. I inch my way forward, upright on my knees now, my arms outstretched and flailing in front of me. If only I could find a wall to follow. Something that would lead me to a door or a window, anything that could get me out of here. The heat is almost unbearable now. It feels like the back of my shirt is melting into my skin, like my lungs are about to collapse. And the putrid stench makes me want to vomit. I suddenly wonder if this is what hell would feel like and how anyone could endure such torture. Is that where I am right nowin hell? But why? Why would I be in hell? Why would God allow that? Finally my hands feel what seems to be a wall. I rise to my feet and quickly use the rough wooden surface to guide me. Splinters pierce my fingers, but that's minor compared to the burning heat and the deadly smell. I work my way along this wall until I reach what I think is a window. It's about three feet from the floor and feels as if a heavy, canvaslike cloth is covering the glass. I tug at the cloth, but it's securely attached by what seem to be nails. Why would someone nail a window covering down? And then I hear a loud sizzling, crackling noise behind me, back where the fire is increasing by the second. It's a menacing sound...almost demonic, like it wants to devour me, to burn me alive. I pound my fists against the cloth over the window, hoping to loosen this covering and force open the window and An earsplitting explosion knocks me off my feet, and I smack into the window. When I come to my senses, I am lying facedown outside. I don't know how much time has passed, but I'm on pavement that's cool and damp, probably from a recent rain. I can tell that it's night by the darkness and the streetlight several feet away. The ground's wetness is such a welcome relief after the infernCarlson, Melody is the author of 'Playing With Fire ', published 2007 under ISBN 9781590526941 and ISBN 1590526945.