My spirit was the house burning down.
Strong, quiet, and beautiful.
My family was the flames creeping into every crevice I left unguarded or unprotected.
My mind was the child inside. Locked alone in a room, screaming cries of help while the flames around me continued to spread and destroy everything I was.
I knew to get on the floor and hide myself away from the fire because I knew the damage it was capable of. I stayed there for as long as I could, telling myself to stay calm and to not panic. Help would be on the way.
But help never came.
I fought for my lungs to work. I fought for hope. I fought for my life. But like all fighters, I grew tried.
With every inhale, I knew what was happening to me. I became witness to my own death. The carbon monoxide filled my lungs and turned them black as my family’s hearts, until I too became part of the fire.