Fueling Hatred

Michael stood hidden behind the cartoon fish shower curtain. The cold water ran down his legs into the drain. While trying to avoid his legs, a stream of yellow soon paraded down along with the water. A scent of burning that fought against his musky body wash struck Michael’s nostrils. He calmly reached for the shampoo when he smelt it because he knew it was probably his Grandma’s awful cooking again. He shivered at the thought of eating burnt lasagna or overcooked spaghetti. So after his cold shower and food debate, he stepped out on the tiled floor and noticed smoke seeping through the door and fighting with the steam. At that moment he realized something was out of place and a sudden blare of the fire alarm confirmed his fears.

Michael threw on his clothes, stepped out of the bathroom, and ran down the flight of wooden stairs. On the floormat he noticed his Mother’s shoes missing and his Grandma’s still there. “Oh no! I can’t leave without Grandma,” he processed. He sprinted past the corridor and the kitchen that was ablaze with fire. The stacks of unpaid bills seemed to have fueled the fire and Michael’s fears along with them. “All those insurance calls. It makes sense. Something’s wrong with Mom.”

In the next room, his Grandma seemed to be napping on the couch. “Grandma! Wake up! Please!” he shouted. Out of desperation he started to shake her and notice there was no response. When Michael checked his Grandma’s pulse he realized that she was not napping after all. Just then he reached for his cell phone in his left pocket to call for help. It wasn’t there. The smoke started to cloud his thinking. “Grandma is dead. I will be dead too. I need to get out. Grandma will have to stay here,” he thought.

It was like a hateful spirit had possessed him when he ran to the front door. In front of the door and his only exit, a shadow-like figure caused him to freeze and almost fall over the Persian red carpet. There he saw his Mother pouring gasoline along the corridor as if she was guiding the fire. She took a glance at him, smiled, and threw the rest of the gasoline on him before she closed the door. The fire spread to his fresh clothes and dirtied his skin anew, but Michael knew he was the clean one in this family. Then as if to purge him, the smoke started to fill his lungs and the cloudiness in his head started to throw black holes into his vision. He was so close to freedom, but his body gave out and fainted there amongst the flames along with his hope.