• A familiar stench fills my nostrils as my nose twitches and I slowly wake from my slumber. My hands subconsciously move towards my eyes and pry open the lids as my head, still hazy from sleep, tries to comprehend the source of the smell. As my eyes adjust to the burning light that contrasts the dark sky out the window, my mind lights up like a bulb when I realize the room is on fire. I panic as the crackling sound of splintering wood hits my ears and the death-like fog reaches out it's hand to touch my face causing my eyes to water. My first instinct is to get down on the ground, and as I crawl to my door for what seemed like an eternity, while the intoxicating fumes vivaciously danced and twirled above me; I realize there is an object, I could not live without, sitting in this very same room.
    My “Box ” is a light aluminum carton that holds all close to my heart. My ego tries to reason with me making me wonder why is this the one possession that I must save. Then I remember that this case not only contains a button or a pendant here and there, but also evidence and memories of my existence in this world. When a new goal is set, the mind reinstates order through focus while everything else seems to drift away. I keep telling myself this box is the most I have to lose from in this room, I must save it.
    I, with t-shirt over my nose and mouth, rush over to my plastic drawer; ripping it open and rummaging around for the familiar touch of cold metal. However what I found was much more hot. I pull my hand back the minute after my mind turned white; as the pain fired from my synapses had found my brain. With no water in sight I tell myself, “Well _____, your life really can't get much worse.”, and with a very loud cry of a very offensive word, I wrap my right hand around the burning evidence of my conviction and pull it out of the now melting drawer.
    My hand starts to bubble but I would be damned if I let my rightfully earned reward be taken from me. As the smoke noticed me, it's festive smile turned into a rage filled frown; reminding me of the comedy-tragedy duo. Fire lashes out at me from left and right while the gray apparition clings to my head trying to slither it's way down into my lungs. I fight my way to the wood door, semi-blind, and kick open the burning cracked white rectangle. It took me a whole second to process that the flames on the door had decided to hitch a ride on my foot. With a shoe now on fire and a cooking hand I roared out my anger to the heavens. Little did I know that the gods were listening.
    I ran through the dark hallway only to have my box slip out of a literally melting hand, and as I turn back to reach for my treasure a wall of flame jumps in front of my path. I stand there in disbelief with my jaw hanging wide open; a face that would have made Acme proud. As my mind tries to figure out how to counter this display of bad luck, a rough hand lands on my shoulder and pulls me out of the house. The hand was attached to a fire fighter that saved and damned me; someone who prioritizes the physical well being of others rather than their psychological health.
    I stand outside in the cold night amongst a school of murmuring and swimming spectators yet still feeling so alone. Emptiness draws over my still body as my cold silent black eyes watch, what was once, my material existence drift away like ink black butterflies into the vast deep indigo sky.