ellie porter | twelve . fin

you dreamed of death. it intertwined itself between your sun kissed finger tips. it felt weird to you- wielding death like those who swing swords and knives. but wielding such a power at a young age holds a consequence of its own.

it was the match you lit that ravaged your child hood home.

it was the match you lit that burned your parents to a crisp.

it was the match you lit that sparked the inner demons inside of you.

you were a sweet girl, picking roses and blossoms in the meadow behind your home. nora played in the grass, picking at the green stems, sometimes even putting them in her mouth. you would watch the sun go down, sunset hues lining the horizon. mother would call you in for dinner, papa would walk home from the mines, just in time to eat.

you were only eight when you decided to go snooping in the cupboards. you pushed a small stool in front of the bottom-most counter. your small arms wrapped themselves onto the wooden countertop, lifting the rest of your body onto it's surface. your tiny legs stood up, wobbling as you looked over the counter, scared to fall. your frail fingers found the handle to the cabinet, you pulled slightly and the door opened. you hoped to find some sweets. yes, some candy would be nice, a good treat to gorge yourself on. but that's not what you found. a small package, a rectangle with small writing and red decals on it. you brought it to your face, words were written on it, but they were too big for you to pronounce. you opened it, a series of red-topped wood sticks greeted you.

( are they candy? )

you took one out, observing it. then you noticed a similar red shape streak on the bottom of the container. you put two and two together and thought that the stick must go with this streak. you gently moved the red-topped stick against the shimmering red streak. it lights up, and burning sensation brightens up the stick. wicked. you got bored of looking at it very quickly, you put it back into the cabinet, with the match lit.

you jumped to look out the window. nora was again trying to make an angel in the grass. you heard voices and shuffles from mother and papa's room, so you assumed they were working. you ran outside to the meadow, and plopped down next to nora. you grabbed her hand, wrapping your fingers into hers, and lifted her up. you wanted to show her the tree you found the other day, it was small, something you could both climb. your satin-like oak brown hair cascades down your back as you run with nora. you took her to the tree you mentioned, a small birch tree growing near the seam part of the district. you and nora sat in the branches of the tree, talking like sisters do. the sun started to set, so you and nora walked home.

the house was up in flames when you arrived. people were standing around the house, watching with scared eyes but no movements came from them. you and nora ran toward the scene. but some of the older people watching stopped you, hands grasped your shoulder.

" let go! "

you looked back toward your home, trying to get loose from the woman's grasp.

" MOMMY! PAPA! "

tears flooded your face, streaming down like a river.

the fire died down, eventually. mother and papa's bodies were found.

it was the match you lit that killed your hopes and dreams.

and you couldn't live with it.

---

auntie mary took you and nora in after mama and papa died.

nora didn't believe they were gone, ghosts and premonitions were her thing. she crafted psychedelic illusions, you crafted death and suffering.

you felt guilty, all your life you have blamed yourself. but you couldn't handle anyone else blaming you, so your lips remained sealed on how the house caught ablaze. after all, who would blame the little eight-year-old girl who was just laying on a birch tree.

 no one.

it was a weight you would carry to your grave. mama and papa would want you to confess your sins, but mama and papa aren't here anymore. no matter how much you want them to be.

you tried to move on, but you saw their faces everywhere. in the mirror, mother's dark brown eyes reflected into your own. in nora, in auntie mary, in the pictures of them perched on the mantle above the fireplace. you couldn't get away from what you had done. and part of you didn't want to.

you had a hard time making friends. you had the kind of self-deprecating humor that turned people off. nora was the only person you could truly lean on. you told her everything, except the truth about the fire. no one will ever know what happened. you promised yourself that you would die with that secret in tact.

nora and auntie may are the only family you know you have left.

you don't want to lose them.

not like you lost mama and papa.

but that's the worst thing, you lost them by your own hand.