Burning Sensation

The fire glowed weakly inside the rusty barrel. I laid out my hands to it, palms facing outward. The heat blanketed me from the icy hands of the night. Other people also surrounded the barrel, huddled together shoulder to shoulder. They wore tattered clothings that looked like it came from the dumpster—maybe it was.

My eyes fixed on the dancing fire, not letting my focus to waver. Not letting the thoughts of the harsh reality to race my mind. But from everything that had happened, it is just too much. I gave in.

My eyes quickly filled up with tears, blurring my vision like the mist on windows. Then I let them drop like a waterfall in a forest—no matter how loud the splash of the falling water, no one can hear you in this terrain of sprawling trees.

The orange fire swayed into figures I've come to know too well in my eyes. I found my mouth twitched onto a smile, delighted to see my family in the form of an orange flame. Their faces were plastered with a grin that I had never seen for too long—pure joy.

My heart calmed at the thought pf seeing them once again in this state of happiness. Hoping it would last forever, even if it was fictional. But it did not last.

The orange figures danced in rapid succession. It wasn't a dance of any kind I usually see on the television. Their hands raised as the faces shook violently. In closer inspection, their faces weren't filled with joy. Eyes closed taut as mouths shaped a scowl. It was dread.

I looked at them helplessly, the same way it had happened. It felt like I was transported back in time. My shaking body immobilised from the horror of my family being burned alive. I did not do anything to save them. I killed them. But not this time.

My bony hands reached out to them, a sad attempt of saving them. My finger brushed pass them, sending off an excruciating sensation from the scalding heat. I quickly withdrawn my hand as they fade off from existence.

My good hand held on to my burned hand, shaking. A red hue spanned my hand, mimicking those raw foods being cooked. A gloved hand reached out to my hand, jerking my head towards the person. It was a middle-aged woman with a brown jacket that reached the ground.

The woman looked at me wide-eyed then proceeded to look at my hand. She gently grabbed it as her other hand dug through her pocket. After a few seconds, she laid out a small bottle with a green mixture inside.

The cap popped open and placed drops on my burnt hand. I bit my lip from the pain as she spread the ointment on my hand. I looked up, facing her as she finished treating my hand. Her face gleamed with a smile. It wasn't a smile that meant for pure joy, something I saw from my family. It was a smile that whispered onto my frozen ears. A message clearly heard while not explicitly uttered.

"Everything's gonna be alright."