Aria Burned: A Narrative Fiction

“Oh- so now it’s life. Money is life. Once upon a time freedom used to

Maeve struggled to keep her breathing even. She flicked the weapon safety on and slowly lowered it as Jimmy shouted his warning. The pause seemed to take an eternity. A clatter of metal on stone rang across the yard. She tilted her head back to look at the dark form of the man, David. His crass words made her ears burn. Worse than that were the names he called out. Who were these people? More members of these families Jimmy had spoken of?

The crackling sound of a roaring fire was starting to register. He opened his eyes and felt the heat from his beloved boat burning, keeping him from the brink of hyperthermia. Isaac rolled onto his side, his eyes catching a glimpse of the moon hovering above, his vision blurred.

He mentioned that thanks to the increased expectations on the standard of life, people regarded as being ‘poor’ in this modern society in fact can have a decent life, with air conditioning, access to internet, and all the other conveniences available for them. However,

I could hear mom yelling my name from a distance, a sad worried tone of voice. Throwing my door open to run to mom not knowing what’s going on. I was quickly stopped by a bright light hitting my face. Making me close my eyes for a second or two. I saw the kitchen in a great ball of fire. Flames spreading from the laundry room all the way to refrigerator made it seem like the rest of the trailer was gone. I quickly shut the door to the room, stunned by what I had seen but still having the courage to keep it together and wake up my sister Liz. The odor of burning wood and the air getting thicker makes It hard to breathe but we both made it to the front door. We aren’t able to open it because it had one of those public restroom looking locks tree feet above the door

Before you is a battlefield. The land that bears this violence is deprived of the beauty it once held. It is riddled with craters, mostly likely created from bombs, grenades, and other explosives of the same caliber. Trees once filled with life are now black small traces of heat, and flames linger on the now charred remains of the tree. Few have broken down from more or less likely a body that was sent flying during the battle to then crash and destroy the charred remains. A few odd slash or bullet holes left by swords or guns, the latter of the two more then not. Clouds of dust and debris scattered around the land, making it hard to see as to where or what is going on within. The sounds that can heard within the clouds are chanting of magic

The carriage ride to the immense stone church was far too short. Cole steps out of the gloomy coach and walks to the other side. Opening the wagon’s gate, he holds out his hand to help Sienna out. Taking Cole’s hand, the princess exits the carriage. She starts toward the church gate, but is held back; her black cotton dress is caught on the carriage door. She begins to tug at the fabric, not caring if it rips, but then Cole is there; a split second later, her skirt is free.

Ariana was a curious girl, and everything she loved to do revolved around exploring. Ariana was 15 and had hair as red as blood, and eyes as green as the watered leaves of a new plant. She would often explore by herself or with her friends Troye, and Dinah. Troye had eyes as blue as the waters of Bora Bora, and hair as brown as the trunk of a newly grown oak tree, and at only the age of 16 Troye looked older, and hotter than boys his age. Troye was most often the safer person of the group while Dinah didn’t care if she would die doing it, and did it anyways. Dinah was an excited lady, and most times she was the one closest to death when adventuring off into the newly discovered area. Dinah had the greyest eyes which made her often referred to as concrete eyes, and she had blonde hair that shined so bright that when someone waved at her on the sunniest day the light would reflect and hit the other person with the brightest ray of sunshine ever recorded in human history. They all live in a small town called Westerville which is not very far from Liverpool, England.

I woke up that morning with groggy eyes and spit dried on my mouth. My stomach remained empty, as usual, and dust clouded and burned my lungs with the intensity of a wildfire produced by the utmost potent blue flames. I picked at the rash created by the bed of hay on which I slept. I cursed, spat, and tied my overalls.

"Even though we are going to die, this has to be the best moment of my life." And with those last words from Eden a giant fireball crashes into their home, burning their flesh, burning their organs, burning their bones,  destroying them. The only thing the fire couldn't destroy, the only thing that remained, were their

At the time of this happening my mama said my Grandmother Lyanna was upstairs, but when she’d heard my mama screaming for her she came back down running. Then, when she saw the house burning, she quickly managed to put out the flames with a blast of intense winds that had swept through the living room after the gales had blown out the windows and ripped open the front door. My mama told

I've always had a strange fascination with fire. It's fun to watch, but from a distance. Up close? That's a much different story. It's so hot. Overwhelmingly hot, in fact. I can feel it, slowly scorching my skin. But I can't back up. The flames follow me whenever I do. So, I stand, staring into it defeatedly. It's bright and warm, like a blanket. It's so close to becoming a blanket. I can feel its desire to wrap around me, consume me. It'll burn for a moment, of course, but then it'll be fine. I'll keep you company. I'll keep you warm. And safe. Trust me. I can hear this in the fire's comforting crackling, and it's loud. So loud, so convincing. The

The colors are astonishing. No longer does green dwell the trees. It seems the entire world is on fire. The bright yellow has mingled with the orange to create small flames, flickering from the branches of trees. They fall to the ground and ignite the earth. It has been said before that fire is pure and cleans everything it touches. It takes something broken and dead and gives it one last spurt of beauty. One last goodbye before it leaves forever. The bed of the fire is a deep blue, so searing it burns any who come near. The heat makes my eyes water and stings my uncovered face. I want to get as close as possible. To see the embers be swept with the glorious reds and royal blues. The heat is

Everything burns my eyes, my ears, my lungs, my nose, and my legs, all burning with different things. My eyes burn with tears from both the ashes and fear. My ears burn of screams and cries for help, but I’m listening out for only two voices only, my dad’s and my best friend Taylor’s, but I can’t hear either of the voices of the two most important men in my life. My lungs burn for clean air that’s safe to breathe, and not this toxic air that stings with every breath. My nose burns from the smells of burning wood, flesh, and ashes. But the thing that burns the most is my legs that can’t seem to carry me fast enough to find a way out and to find Taylor and my Dad, who if I can’t find soon, I will have to leave behind if I don’t want to die with them.

A single spark of a match ignites the aroma of sulfur and burning wood, instantly memories flood my mind. I am in my childhood home, and I can hear my father yelling for my brother to start the fire as I try to find comfort in extra layers of clothing, hovering over the furnace vent. Yesterday, while waiting at the intersection on a chilly morning, the exhaust from a diesel