It smelled terribly of smoke. The eight year old didn’t quite know what was happening. She hated the smell of smoke.
She screamed out to her mother as the smoke twisted around her throat and filled her lungs. She was now coughing violently.
Her arms were numb, pinned beneath hot metal. It was funny and strange how it didn’t seem to hurt at all. Perhaps her mind was blocking the sensation?
She called out for her mother again and then her father. This time it was more of a shriek.
Why wasn’t anyone helping her? Why wasn’t anyone answering?
Blood. So much of it. Pouring down her forehead...
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