Entry #521192, added on 06-28-08 @ 7:41 pm EDT
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| Part One - Chapter One: I'll Always Be Your Friend | Entry #521192 |
From the Diary of Lisa Lansing - Age 21 - Missing and Presumed Deceased
Book One - Part One
I'll Always Be Your Friend
By
L. A. Powell
Chapter One
December - 1977
The pounding started shortly after midnight. It terrified me. I'd been left alone for the very first time, and when the door crashed open I went into hysterics. A cloud of smoke entered first, tinted with a strange bright light. Dark, cloaked figures followed, and they shouted. I cringed, sought a corner and screamed, "Please don't hurt me!"
One of them picked me up and said, "It's okay, it's okay. I've got you now." His voice, low and soothing calmed me, and I grasped the danger.
. My apartment building was on fire. The fireman carried me to a barrier at least a hundred yards away, but still I felt the heat: my face, red and flushed, my arms almost singed.
The flames rose as high as I could see. The only home I had ever known, along with the apartments of many of my friends, melted away before an onslaught of bright red, orange and yellow monsters. They seemed almost as tall as the city skyscrapers looming five blocks away.
Hours later, the smell of charred wood, even the taste of it in the air, hammered home the fact the fire consumed everything we owned. Every possession, every bit of clothing save what we wore, had become a pile of ash.
I sat in shock. My mom, on an overnight trip with my new stepfather, didn’t know. There was no one to comfort me. A woman who stepped from a white Red Cross van draped a blanket around me. Once the fire was out, the bitter December wind cut right through my pajamas.
“How old are you, honey?” she asked.
“I'll be thirteen next week.”
“What's your name?”
“Lisa Lansing.”
“Did you live there very long?”
“Since I was born, I think. Is all my stuff gone now?”
“I’m afraid so." The woman stared at the ruins and said, “But the important thing is you're safe.”
“Sarah was in there,” I said.
“I’m so sorry, was she a relative?”
“No, a special doll. A gift from my best friend, Benji.”
"Where is the rest of your family?" The woman asked.
"My mom's on a trip."
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Yes, but they don't live here anymore."
A light mist from the lengthy struggle to extinguish the fire remained in the heavy air. Lights from skyscrapers above and streetlamps below caused the mist to reflect blue and bright gold in a flashing array as it floated toward the nearby Trinity River. I noticed some of it drop on the single live oak tree that had long struggled to survive on the parkway bordering what was left of my apartment building. An “almost” evergreen, its leaves drooped from still thin branches. Somehow, it made it through the ordeal without much damage.
A fireman stepped over endless rows of fire hose and picked up a little girl who had wandered away. He returned and handed her to a relieved and sobbing mother.
Half an hour later, I thought I noticed the same little girl standing beside the Red Cross van. She reminded me of Benji, so I walked over to her and she darted behind the van, out of sight. As I reached the van and looked around it, the girl disappeared. She giggled.. Her hair, her dress, even the laughter seemed familiar.
Those similarities, and the fact I lost my home with all my possessions, including my doll, Sarah; took me back to Benji and her haunting tale.
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© Copyright 2008 L. A. Powell (UN: lisapowell at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
L. A. Powell has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
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