Fear

My house is on fire! The smoke is burning my lungs. I run to close the door to the bedroom trying to contain it to where it started. The panic sits like a huge brick in my stomach threatening

to make me vomit but I push through it in desperation to find my dogs and husband and get them out. They are upstairs sleeping in bed. I rush up the there, my heart beating so fast I can

hear the thudding in my ears and feel as though I might pass out right here and now. I’m yelling for my husband and get no response. I reach the top after what feels like an eternity and he is not there, the dogs are not there. I rush back down, becoming frantic to find him. I’m screaming on the border of hysteria. Rushing out the front door I look around and do not see anyone. Not even one neighbor looks on. A deep sense of duty forces me to run back inside my burning house to see how much it has spread. It is now in two bedrooms and our bathroom in between. I know everything will be ruined, nothing will be left once the flames reach all four walls. I run to my office, tear open the filing cabinet and grab all of our personal documents. In my mind I’m sorting through all my items by importance. Once the personal

documents are safe in the front yard, I think to myself how stupid it is that I’m thinking of going in after more. Already I’ve lost the battle with common sense because my feet are moving. I run back in and see my great grandma’s rocking chair that has rocked each generation including my very own children. I grab that and quickly set it in the front yard. Looking around I still do not hear the fire department sirens. I still do not see my husband or my dogs. I do find this odd but needing to somehow help the situation I run into the garage finding a bucket. I cautiously go in only to find the flames have reached the kitchen. Grabbing the towel, I wet it in the sink, put it over my face and start throwing buckets of water toward the flames. With a slight sense of accomplishment I see them start to recede and realize they did not recede but switched directions. I’m now coughing, gasping, and my eyes burn despite my squinting. Looking through no more than slits I see the beautiful stairs leading up to my bedroom that I walked down every day for the last 30 years are now glowing orange and red. I call out to my husband, the severe panic gripping me again, this time I lean forward and vomit. I feel complete desolation knowing this is the end of our home. My stomach churns and I wiggle my toes. I’m trying to pull myself out of this terror that is the worst nightmare imaginable. My legs slowly move sticky with sweat, I listen for the flames but no longer hear the roar. I feel my husband’s arm draped over me and his warm body close to mine bringing me comfort. My heart rate starts to decrease as my eyes slowly open. I look around figuring out where I am. The sunshine is giving off an orange hue in my room. I wake up to realize it was all a nightmare, one that has been haunting me since childhood.

Written by Regina Velius