When the fires started, the others ran.
We stayed behind,
some believing the flames to be nothing more
than fireflies.
The flames have died down,
casting an eerie glow,
an amber warning,
and the others returned,
their skin armored now.
We continued on with our lives,
but that was until we were cornered,
pressed against the heat,
giving no choice but to succumb
or to run.
So, we ran,
wildly blinded,
no idea as to where except downhill,
and the bodies tumbled around us
without hope of rescue,
cast aside as if ripping away broken skin.
The others were satisfied,
resting at the top of the hill,
eyeing flames that would engulf them,
thinking we were responsible,
and maybe some were.
But not all of us.
Still, we would pay the price.
Melissa Mendelson
Monroe
