Inferno

I wake up to the sound of the crackling. It’s the walls being eaten again. Thick orange flames snake along the ceiling as the paint drips down like a viscous goo. Something about the blaze, their bright glow, and the way they dance around. I’m tempted to reach out and run my hand through them or even dance along, but for now, I’ll settle for watching as they devour my home, and eventually me. I peer out the window to find darkness except for the streetlight as it illuminates pale faces. Their expressions are solemn, unaffected by the situation as if it were a staged performance for their amusement. I don’t bother screaming as the sound of the house collapsing consumes everything. The ceiling dips down lower and lower, the raging fire pulling everything down into the earth. An instant burial and cremation. I look at my mother; her face ghostly and expressionless, her head tilting to either side scanning the mayhem until her glance stops on me. I watch her eyes grow big and her lips part… but it’s too late. 

“Miss? Miss?!” 

My gaze settles on his brown eyes and then downwards, taking in his white-collared button-down shirt which remains wrinkle-free, now adorned with a large, dark brown stain trickling down onto his black slacks. I hold the now empty white coffee cup that’s still dripping onto the pavement. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” I say, and all I can do is stare at the stain, running through any ideas on how to fix it. 

“Don’t worry about it… looks like you need a fresh coffee though,” he says with a smile, and I can sense the flirtation in his tone.

“It looks like an expensive shirt though,” I say, following him as he walks into the coffee shop, the door opening with the jangling bells. He goes up to the counter and although I appreciate his forwardness, I’m not interested in getting into anything new. I feel obligated to indulge him, though. After all, I spilled my coffee all over his nice shirt. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask as he fingers through several bills in his wallet and places them on the counter. 

“Yeah... a job interview...” he shifts his gaze to the board of drink choices and then to me, “I didn’t want the job, anyway. This is a good excuse to pass it off,” he explains with a sigh, looking down at his shirt. The coffee smell is so strong off him my nose scrunches. He nods to Mrs. Wilders as she hands two coffee cups over and she passes me a wide smirk and a wink as he turns his back, lingering to the booth by the window. 

“I didn’t catch your name?” 

“It’s Lila,” I say, my eyes getting lost in the coffee as it’s still swirling in circles, licking up the edges of the cup. 

“Are you okay?” He says, his head cocked to the side as his dark eyes dig into me. “You seem a little… -”

“Do you ever get the sense of impending doom?” I interject, the words spilling out so fast my tongue can’t catch them and I clench my hands into a fist in my lap. To my surprise, he smiles, “impending doom? No, I can’t say I do.” 

My mind stumbles through the possibilities of where this conversation will go depending on my next question or explanation. Keep going, he’ll think I’m crazy. Bring up something else, but what? Say nothing and- 

“Come on…. you can’t bring up a subject like that and then just leave it. Tell me, I’m just a stranger anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think.” His eyebrows raise as his body stills, giving me his full attention. 

“You’ll think I’m crazy” 

“Try me”

“I once read a story about a woman who lived in constant fear of the water. Despite growing up near the beach, she couldn’t bring herself to go near it. Her family, all beach lovers, couldn’t understand her phobia. This fear kept her from countless experiences; she avoided pool parties and boat excursions with friends. She was often bullied and ridiculed for her fear… it was crippling.

As she grew older, she married and started a family, seemingly putting her fear behind her. However, at the age of 30, she was tragically found dead in the ocean, having drowned. Some suspected foul play, but regardless, the water was the cause of death. It was as if she had a premonition that the water would someday end her life.”

I can’t read his expression as he stares at me now, as if waiting for more. 

“I’ve lived with a similar fear, but of fire” I continue. “I was too young to know of house fires or even death but I had this fear that the house would burn and my parents would leave me behind in it. I slept with the door open and got as close as I could to the hall so my parents would see me or I’d at least have easy access to get out. I’d stare at the fire alarm on my ceiling, traumatized by its green flashing light, my heart beating rapidly. I’d have nightmares constantly. I moved to an apartment near a fire station but events led me back, back to that house. The fear has returned, the nightmares, and now I feel like I’m next… my greatest fear will come into fruition…” I pause, my stare settling in on a dark smudge on the table as my mind sinks deeper. “It’s just interesting… that the moment of our deaths, and perhaps more tragic deaths are such an impactful moment that it’s written on our soul, engraved on our bones and carved into our hearts. That deep rooted in our very core is this strange sense of what will happen and we walk life feeling that odd fear tapping our shoulder and telling us to run.”

His face is blank and the silence deafening. 

“Well that is… um… chilling…” he says, wrapping his hand into the arm of the cup and I can see the turmoil written on his face as he takes a long sip, setting it back down with a hard swallow. “So you’re the kind of person who believes in fate… probably ghosts and soul mates too…?” 

“I guess… so you think I’m crazy?” I ask and he bobs his head around, lifting his shoulders,

“Kind of…” his stare gets lost outside like he’s pondering something important. Twisting his wrist he peers down at his watch, his eyes widening as he looks back at me, shuffling out of the booth. 

“I should go… I can still make the interview, I’ll just be a little late” he says taking a step backward toward the door. 

I knew it, he thinks I’m absolutely bonkers and now he’d rather go to a job interview, soaked in coffee no less, than be stuck with me any longer. Can’t say I blame him.

“I thought you didn’t want the job,” I say. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says turning around and pausing there, his head locked on the door and he looks back at me for a moment, “the job is a firefighter,” he says, “and something tells me this won’t be the last time I see you Lila” he turns back again, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a grin and I listen to the bells jingle as the door closes behind him.