// Fire Burns Like Tears In My Heart // [Sycamore]
Apr 12, 2012 23:17:43 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Apr 12, 2012 23:17:43 GMT -5
.:i'll:.:keep:.:trying:.:to:.:figure:.:this:.:life:.:out:.
Through all the smoke and the blaze of you,
The flames get higher.
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You're not useless, Lilith.
As I watch his form disappear back into Sycamore house, all I can hear are those words. And, with tears still smudged against my cheeks though they no longer spill from my eyes, I cling to that thread of hope above the abyss that he saved me from falling into. Because they just have to be true. I do everything I can to make things okay for the kids. I clean and I cook and I bandage them up after they've fallen, and I work so hard every day so that all the years in the orphanage have blurred together into muddled memories of aching limbs, of screams in my pillow, of tangled hair and haunted eyes and dreams never come true. I gave them everything I had. But what if it wasn't enough? What if it didn't matter if I left right now? What if none of them cared? What would I do then? My purpose in life would be gone, and I would be so lost. So afraid. So alone.
But I suppose being unwanted would be nothing new to me.
I stare numbly up at the orphanage, at my home. It may have been in disrepair and it may have been old but it was always steady, a roof above our heads when no other one could be supplied. I'm sure none of us would be here if we had the choice, but the decision wasn't ours, so now the house is all we have. All we had. Because our home is burning, lost to us now, sparks leaping off the walls and fire devouring all it can and black smoke spires twisting wickedly up to taint the beryl sky. I stare at it in absolute horror, my eyes reflecting flames that manage to leap out of their smokey prison. This can't be happening.
A sound breaks me out of my thoughts. At first, it blends into the fire alarm, impossible for all to hear except for the mother, whose ears were created to hear those cries. Icy disks flash in recognition and then terror, and before I can even remember Edgar's order to stay here and watch over Lalia and Blaire, I am racing toward the door just about as fast as I can. Passing through the entrance to Sycamore house is like diving through a portal into another world- smoke hangs thick in the air, and I swear the temperature rises at least ten degrees. It only gets worse the farther I run down hallways, through doorways, blinded by smoke but knowing this house like the back of my hand.
Suddenly, though, I hurtle into an unexpected obstacle, almost losing my balance. Upon further inspection, I see that it's Septimus. What's he still doing here?! I grab him my the shoulders, more to steady myself than him, and shout as loud as I can over the fire alarm. "Get Miss Aggie and get out of here, Septimus! I'll be out in five minutes and I swear, if you're not there, you'll wish you had burned with the building!" And with that, I shove him away and continue down the hall, throwing open the door and letting Ara's cries hit me full force. Since her door was closed, the smoke isn't so bad in her room. I race over to her and sweep her right out of the cradle, hugging her close to my chest. "It's okay, honey. Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you. It'll be alright." I bury my face into her thin curls for a moment, breathing in the sweet scent of her baby shampoo, a welcome break from the smoke that's burning my lungs, before fleeing the room back into the maze of black hallways and hidden rooms. I have to get her out of here.
But wait.
In the kitchen, the place where it all began, I hesitate, glancing back over my shoulder. Ara wails even louder than the alarm and the smoke burns my chest, my eyes, my nose, but something draws me back into the flames. It's selfish, I know, but I need it. And so I twist around, and force my way through the burning battlefield, tears streaming down my face because the smoke is lighting my eyes on fire. Eventually, I reach my room. Here, too, there is less smoke because it was well guarded by a closed door, but I still must make haste. Shifting Ara into one arm, I stumble over to my closet and yank it open, fingers desperately searching through worn, ragged clothes until I've found it. Mother's dress.
It's a delicate, beautiful thing, white as fresh snow and a soft as a rose's newest petal after a rain shower. The skirt is all ruffles and layers and lace, but the top is a simple bodice, held up by spaghetti straps with rippling fabric attached. Mother wore it to her wedding and then, after that, to all parties and special dinners. She was beautiful in it and it was the only dress she owned. I remember watching her dance in the warm candlelight, her face lit up with a smile as she spun around and wrapped herself up in my father's strong arms. I only ever feel pretty when I wear it, away from the children's eyes (for none of them can ever know about it). When I'm certain they're all gone, I sometimes slip into the cool fabric and tiptoe in front of the mirror, spinning and pretending that maybe, someday, someone will love me like my father loved my mother. A stupid fantasy, I know, but it always made me feel closer to my parents.
"It only burns if I do," I whisper into the fabric, and as I stare into the hallway, I realize that this is a legitimate possibility. The smoke has now completely clogged the short passage back to safety, tumbling over itself. I'm not a complete idiot, though I sometimes act like one. I know that it's not the fire that kills people- it's the smoke. Clutching Ara in one arm and the dress in the other, I back away from the doorway, terrified and uncertain.
What have I done?
