Waiting for the Light

I hear the fire truck. I have heard the irritating horn so many times, seen the red giant rush to the distance so many times in my life. But this time, instead of fading away, the sound of the horn gets nearer and nearer, until it is blaring right in front of my house.

I sit near the window of my bedroom, and cuddle myself. The smoke blocks my vision and seeps into my lungs. I stare into the foggy room, watching as the fire creeps through the wooden door and climbs up the furniture. I wait for it to welcome me into its warm grip.

I remain in utmost calmness and tranquility. Very soon I will no longer be alone. I will have my family again. I welcome the idea. There is nothing left on this gray orb for me to live for anymore. There is no point for me to stay when everyone is up there.

The smoke makes my breath shorter. My eyes water and I close them. I think of my family, my husband and my baby. They are waiting for me. My weakening heart beats in anticipation.

There is a commotion from downstairs. I hear voices call out orders. They are here to save me. I don’t want to be saved. I don’t need kindness from strangers who think staying alive is safe.

Footsteps overwhelm the crackling of fire. I silently hope that they will be delayed, for I am almost there. I can vaguely see them smiling at me, their arms open for an affectionate embrace. I smile.

A tall figure suddenly appears in front of me. I can hardly see him through the smoke. He crawls to me, and gives me his hand. I ignore him. He seems to say something. I feel his hand on my arm. But fortunately, I already see the light.