FIRE.

It’s almost everywhere. It moves like a living thing, devouring whole walls, crawling up curtains , swallowing everything which come in its path without showing any mercy . Heat presses against his skin, thick and very suffocating. His lungs burn with every breath, each gasp pulling in more smoke than air.

SCREAMS. LOUD. TERRIFIED. DESPERATE.

"Somebody—please! Please, save her .. please give me my small girl !"

His heart pounds, a frantic high pitch drumbeat in his ears. He tries to move, to run, but his legs feel like they belong to someone else. Why won’t they move according to him anymore?

"HELP ME!"

His head jerks toward the sound—toward her.

She’s there, trapped, small hands reaching out, her eyes wide with terror. The flames dance between them, crackling, hungry. He reaches out too—just a little further, just a little more—

BOOM.

A beam crashes down. Sparks explode. The heat blinds him, forces him back. He coughs, chokes, staggers. He tries again—but the fire is faster than everyone imagination.

"NO—!"

Her scream cuts through the loud chaos.

A sound he will never forget in his lifetime. A sound that will never stop replaying in his head like a stuck caset .

His body slams against the floor. The world is spinning almost unconscious. Footsteps—people yelling—someone is pulling him back away

"Let me go!"

He fights, claws, kicks, screams scilenty.

“She’s still in there!”

But no one listens.

The heat is gone now. The smoke clears. But the screams—her screams—stay.

Then,

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

They come too late.

And then, through it all—through the burning wreckage, through the suffocating grief—he hears them.

"You’re just a disappointment."

"You’re just a failure."

"Why don't you die that day to "

"Your a curse ".

"go away "

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

NO!

Suddenly His body jerks awake. A sharp inhale. A choked gasp.

The air is to cool, the room dark. But his chest is still heaving, his breath still caught somewhere between then and now. He grips the sheets, heart slamming against his ribs. His whole body shakes.

The smell of smoke is gone. The fire isn’t real anywhere.

But it still burns something inside him.

It always does.

His chest heaves, each breath sharp and uneven. His eyes dart around the room—wild, searching—like the fire might still be there taking his everything away again , lurking in the corners. But it’s not.

It’s just a room.

Dark. Silent. Empty.

"It's scary"

The fear still lingers, thick like smoke in his lungs. His fingers clutch the sheets, knuckles white, his body trembling as he forces himself to

breathe. In. Out. In. Out. It’s over. It’s over.

But it doesn’t feel over.

His gaze sweeps across the room again, looking for something—someone. But there’s no one. Just him.

The room is huge, but the silence inside it is even bigger. It presses down on him, heavy, suffocating. Louder than the screams. Louder than the fire.

And somehow, that silence feels even scarier.

Even more helpless and hopelessness

His breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling in shaky gasps. In. Out. In. Out. He forces himself to move—slow, mechanical, just to feel real again just to forget everything.

His trembling fingers reach for the glass of water on the nightstand. Cold. He grips it tight, like it might slip through his hands—like he might slip through himself. The first sip burns down his throat, but the second cools him. The third almost makes him believe he’s here, in this moment, and not trapped in the fire again.

He sets the glass down, eyes drifting toward the window.

Pitch black. Not a single flicker of light. No stars. No moon. Just endless darkness, stretching far beyond what he can see from his eyes .

Just like before.

His body feels too heavy now. Too tired. Just Too much. He lays back, curling up, pulling the blanket over himself. Small. Hidden. Safe. Arms wrapped tight around the pillow, like if he holds on hard enough, maybe—just maybe—he won’t feel so alone.

"I wish there someone to talk"

Maybe, if he stays like this long enough, the world will stop thinking him as a curse .

Maybe, if he closes his eyes tight enough, the nightmares won’t find him again.

Maybe.

But they always do.

"I wish I die that day to "