Burnt

A story about being burnt alive

The roar began as a distant beast, growing with terrifying speed. Elias had barely registered the smell of smoke before the walls of his small apartment building were alight, a hungry maw of flame consuming everything it touched. He’d tried the door, but the heat on the handle had seared his palm, and thick, black smoke had already turned the hallway into an impassable abyss.

He retreated to the center of his living room, a small island of rapidly diminishing safety. The heat was a tangible presence now, pressing in, stealing the air from his lungs. It crawled under his skin, a million tiny needles turning to searing brands. He tried to scream, but only a raspy cough escaped, quickly swallowed by the crackling symphony of destruction.

His clothes began to smoke, then ignite. The pain, when it truly arrived, was not like anything he had ever known. It wasn't the sharp, clean agony of a broken bone, or the dull throb of an old wound. It was an invasion, total and absolute, a liquid inferno devouring him from the inside out. His vision flickered, orange and black, and the air around him shimmered like a grotesque mirage.

For a moment, pure, animalistic terror seized him. He thrashed, a futile dance against the inevitable, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through his screaming nerves. He tasted metal and ash, smelled burning fabric, and something else, something sickeningly sweet and utterly horrifying.

Then, a strange thing happened. As the initial, unbearable shock began to consume his physical senses, his mind, in a desperate act of self-preservation, began to detach. The pain was still there, a constant, all-encompassing fact, but it was as if it were happening to someone else, a distant broadcast from a failing receiver.

His eyes, though blurring with tears and smoke, saw not the flames devouring his home, but the calm blue of the ocean on his last vacation. He remembered the feel of the sand between his toes, the cool spray on his face. He heard not the roar of the fire, but the melodic laughter of his daughter, a sound he hadn't truly listened to in years.

A burning beam crashed, sending sparks showering around him, but in his mind, it was the fireworks display from his tenth birthday, a dazzling spectacle against a summer night sky. He saw his mother's face, young and kind, leaning over him with a slice of cake. He felt her gentle hand on his cheek, not the scorching heat consuming him.

The feeling of burning intensified, reaching a crescendo that transcended simple pain and became an overwhelming pressure, a force that threatened to explode him from within. Yet, his mental landscape grew clearer, sharper. He was standing in his childhood garden, the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air. He saw the swing set, the crooked apple tree. He remembered the taste of the first apple he'd picked himself, tart and crisp.

He thought of Clara, his wife. He pictured her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. He remembered their first dance, awkward and joyful. Love, pure and unadulterated, surged through him, an impossible warmth that fought against the destructive heat. It was a memory so vivid, so real, that for a fleeting moment, he was there, in her arms, safe and loved.

The world around him was a blinding, all-consuming orange now. Sounds receded, replaced by a high-pitched ringing. The pressure reached its absolute maximum, then, beautifully, began to soften. The edges of his vision blurred not with smoke, but with a gentle, golden light. The memories, once distinct, began to merge, intertwine, becoming a vast, comforting tapestry of his entire life, unfolded in the space of seconds.

The pain was still a whisper, a distant hum, but it was fading, giving way to an unexpected sense of peace. He wasn't Elias, trapped in a burning building anymore. He was the child in the garden, the young man dancing with his love, the father holding his daughter. He was the ocean's blue, the sky's expanse, the sun's warmth.

And then, as the golden light enveloped him completely, the whisper of pain dissolved entirely, and there was only the vast, silent beauty of all that had been, all that was, and all that would never be again. A final, gentle exhale, and Elias was gone, leaving only the memory of light and love in the heart of the raging inferno.