November 23, 2010
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Drip, Drip.

Smoke filled the room.

Drip, Drip.

The fire curled around the walls.

Drip, Drip.

The screams from inside filled
your lungs.

Drip, Drip.

The terror pierced your heart.

Drip, Drip.

The smell of burning flesh filled your nose.

Drip, Drip.

You knew your uncle lived there.

Drip, drip.

You turned the faucet off.

Nothing reached your soul.

Turning around, you left.

You left.

Survivors claim to have seen you, walking away, but not before you turned the hose off.

Police searched for you.

They found your fingerprints.

Found the red lighter you always carried in your back pocket.

Saw the papers you used.

One of them had half your name “Jos-“

Enough evidence, they said.

You ran, never looking back.

When you close your eyes tonight, though.

You will see blackness. Nothing.

People have seen you eyes. Filled with nothingness.

The holes in your chest turned black from rot.

People watch you. They know. Somehow they know.

You don’t talk to them. But you know the truth has come out.

About you.


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