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Self and Other

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  • Feb. 4, 2013
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Jenny Diaz
English 1005
Prof. Michel Schtakleff
September, 2012

Burning Flames

It was December, early morning after Christmas Day; I was awakened by an uneasiness that was being caused by the hot temperature in my room. The room was lightly lit. I assumed that the lamps on side of my bed that had been covered with a thin blanket to dim the lights were causing the glow. I began to stir, and rolled over in discomfort. I then realized it wasn't the hot temperature that was bothering me so much as I started to smell the toxic of, the plastic of my mattress burning.

Unconsciously, I started to feel a warm temperature at the foot of my bed. I pulled off the covers, as I rubbed my eyes to see more clearly I then realize that the bottom of my bed was in flames. I reacted quickly, and jumped off the bed as I unwillingly pushed my bed towards the door, my only exit. As I consciously realized I had no escape I began to shout and scream for my parents “Mama, Papa help me my bed is on fire”. As I continued to scream and shout I looked to my right and noticed that all our Christmas gifts where all on the other bed across from mine. I knew there was no way of me saving our gifts, and taking them with me, so I accepted that they were going to burn into ash.

As I heard the foot stomps of my mother running up the stairs from tending to my twin brothers I felt somewhat relieved. It was only when my mom tried to open the door but yet didn’t succeed I began to worry and feel fear. I then shouted “mama where’s papa the flames are getting bigger I can’t get out, I’m scared”. I began crying for help and continued to scream “someone please help me please”. The intensity of the flames was getting worse as the seconds past. It was like screaming for my life just wasn’t enough. As the flames scattered across the room I started shaking. However, I began to hear my father trying to kick down the...