MicroHorror

Freedom came in the presence of a needlework pillow.

Daniel’s mother had made it for him, and he valued it as much as anything he had, pitiful though his belongings were. She couldn’t afford to send him away with very much, making the small things more precious.

When the fire broke out, he knew he had to escape or die. The pillow was the first thing he thought to clutch to himself. He wrapped the soft backing around his hand and plummeted his fist through the small window in his room. The onrush of fresh air cleared his head and he could see again as he climbed through to the outside.

The woman hired to cook for his frat brothers stood in the front of the house holding a kitchen utensil. Her apron looked stark in the early morning gloom.

“Frannie! Is anyone else in there?”

She didn’t respond, only stood, frantically twisting the spatula.

He tried to get her attention but she didn’t hear him.

She must be in shock.

He gazed at the smoke now issuing from the window.

I don’t think I can do this.

There was no one else. Without a backward glance, he ran into the burning house through the front door. The place was eerie in the smokiness. He passed fellow brothers choking on the smoke stumbling toward the light. The familiar tombstone of one of his friends’ doorway appeared through the mist.

He pounded on it. No answer. He tried the knob. Locked.

He said a quick prayer that Chris was not home and propelled himself forward.

He became disoriented and found himself in his own room again.

“What the hell…” he muttered, gasping. Then he saw the body on the floor, a broken CD lying partially visible under the hip.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He rolled the inert form over.

His slack face stared back.