Heart of Fire | ONC 2020

2. sparks

Aera ran home that night with a brewing sense of excitement and unease in her heart. She lay awake most of the night replaying that magical moment in the field over and over in her mind. 

The next morning, she simply couldn't resist snatching a book of matches from the top shelf in the kitchen cupboard - while her parents were occupied, of course. On her walk to work, she stopped in a quiet alleyway and tore out one match, pinching it tightly between her index finger and thumb. Then she stared at it several minutes, chewing on her lip as she debated whether or not she should dare strike another match. Every time she moved closer to the striking strip, her heart jolted in her ribcage and something in her mind made her stop.

But when she realized she was already late for work, she decided she wasn't going to be tardy for nothing. She was going to do it, and she would not wait long enough to change her mind or hesitate again. Closing her eyes and filling her lungs with air, she rapidly struck the match head against the red strip on the matchbook. It burst into a small flame that seemed to envelop her entire world, transporting her to some other place just as it had the day before. 

Aera could feel a difference in the air, but she stood frozen for a moment until she gathered the courage to peel her eyes open. To her horror, the view of pitch blackness did not change when her lids raised; the world before her was entirely dark. 

Fear took hold of her heart with an iron grip. Something felt very wrong.

She realized she was still holding her breath, so she emptied her lungs. But when she tried to inhale again, there was no sensation of satisfying her body's need for oxygen. Instead, it felt like she was choking. 

Aera began to hyperventilate, plunging into a panic. She felt for the match in her fingertips, hoping to blow it out and return to her world as soon as possible, but her hands were empty.

 She whirled around, surrounded by cold nothingness. She was suffocating, growing more disoriented by the second. Her desperate, oxygen-starved brain began to fill the blackness with seemingly the most horrifying images it could muster. She felt the presence of monsters or demons, or maybe both, all around her. She could not see them, but she could feel that they were closing in, reaching out to grab her. 

__________

A man passing by the alleyway noticed Aera's crumpled figure. His throat caught at the sight of her face. He noted dozens of others walking by, taking no action, and he felt he had no other choice but to try to help. He knelt down beside the girl, then held two fingers to her inner wrist and felt her racing pulse. Perplexed by the smoldering match in her hand, he tossed it into a nearby puddle. 

He spoke, with a smooth, hushed baritone, "Please wake up, miss."

When she did not respond, he was unsure of which action to take. The hospitals no longer took anyone who could not pay a considerable fee before a doctor would see them, and he was not a man of wealth. He could not tell what had happened to her, but she was now breathing normally and her heart rate had slowed. His worry lessened slightly.

He decided he would take her to the most educated man he knew - his father, who lived only a few blocks down the street. His father worked for the government, though he had never quite explained to his son exactly what it was that he did. Still, the son looked up to his father more than anyone and was certain he would know what to do.

He slid his arms under the unconscious girl as gently as possible, then raised her from the ground. One of his arms was at the crook of her knees, and her shoulders rested upon the other. Her head lolled back, so he did his best to support it so as not to further harm her in any way. 

He had a job of relentless, back-breaking manual labor, so it was no struggle to carry her down several streets until he arrived at his father's apartment block. A man who was exiting held the door open for them and was thanked profusely in return. 

The elevator within, of course, was no longer functioning - it hadn't been in decades. The man swore under his breath a bit as he climbed the five narrow flights of creaky stairs - but was as diligent as possible not to bump his cargo into anything.

"Oh, dear," was all his father said when he answered the pounding at his apartment door. He swung the door wide open, allowing his son to carefully shuffle inside sideways. He laid the girl on an old sofa, her head on the armrest. The two men were left staring at each other, their eyes occasionally darting to the girl before them, then flickering back just as quickly. 

The son was first to break the silence, beginning to say, "She . . . she looks just like―"

"I know, son." They gazed at each other with watery eyes.

"What do we do?"

"What happened?" the father asked. 

"I found her―already unconscious, in an alleyway. Her heart was racing . . . and there was a match in her fingers that had just gone out."

The old man's eyes widened, now fixating only on the girl. 

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, and her mouth stretched into a wide yawn. 

"I'm hungry," she said softly.

With perfect comedic timing, her stomach unleashed a loud growl.