• Smoke. Everything was covered in a thin layer of smoke, a loud beeping noise kept repeating it’s self over and over giving me a headache. I didn’t realise though, I just pulled the pillow over my head trying to block out the noise thinking this was how a hangover felt.
    The air was thick and hard to inhale, the sound of running feet must have past my room about a million times. Soon someone was banging on my door screaming my name and saying I needed to get out of there; I just ignored him though and grabbed my IPod putting Papa Roach Time and Time Again on full volume. The banging on the door stopped and the beeping was soon accompanied by loud sirens, I just thought it was the song.
    About half way into the song I began to choke violently. The smoke was thick, thicker than it was a second ago. The room was heating up badly, I threw my IPod away from me as it began to burn my hand the headphones disconnected themselves from it as it hit the floor. The sirens continued though, they weren’t from the song. Then I realised what was going on, there was a fire and I was still in it.
    I climbed out of bed trying to see through the smoke and breathe as little as I could; carefully I walked over to the door and touched the handle but quickly withdrew my hand. It was boiling hot. This wasn’t good, I couldn’t escape through a window since I didn’t have one so I was stuck in this room filled with smoke. Hopefully I would pass out before the fire burnt down my door; I wouldn’t feel anything that way.
    It wasn’t long before breathing became even more hard and painful, it’s now impossible to see anything threw the smoke and the heats unbearable. The choking started again but god still won’t let me die damn it, how I wish he would. The sirens had stopped five minutes ago and all I can hear is the roar of the fire, this wouldn’t be happening if I didn’t go and get drunk at that party last night.
    Suddenly the door was on fire, more smoke entered the room and the heat rose. But that was all dead to me now, this felt like the day when my parents died. A few days after that fire at the hotel I got a letter from the people who started the hotel fire saying they would kill me in the same way but after three years that fear faded, yet the police never caught them. I crawled backwards until my back hit the wall, the fire was spreading fast. A pain ran through my head and memory of the hotel fire came to mind.

    We were all sitting on the couch in our large hotel room laughing and smiling; the TV was on the program Top Gear. The kettle began to whistle, saying that the water had boiled. Tinkerbelle my mum stood up and started to make the tea, a bit annoyed she was missing the program. Suddenly there was a loud bang making her drop the kettle and spill some of the water on her bare foot, unlike most people she laughs at pain saying it only hurts if you fear it but if you laugh at it, it will cower away.

    The pain in my head faded as the flashback faded, leaving only the memory and fresh tears in my eyes. I tried to hold them back but with the smoke stinging them as well it wasn’t easy. I could never bear to watch top gear or Peter Pan after that or even drink tea, which was annoying because I loved tea. I mourned over their deaths for ages especially Amy’s my younger sister who was only three, she never did anything wrong and was a very strong catholic. She didn’t deserve to die. Then there was another pain in my head and another memory flooded into my mind.

    The fire alarm had gone of a few minutes after the large bang, my dad James helped mother to the door but it wouldn’t budge. Smoke started to leak into the room. One annoying thing about this room even though it’s large and spacey there’s no windows, so we couldn’t get rid of the smoke or escape. A five year old me and my sister rushed to the kitchen and bathroom to find towels and dish clothes to stuff under the door and stop the smoke, but as soon as they were under they caught on fire. Amy screamed as the fire touched her hand, but she was too petrified to move so it carried on burning and sneaking its way up her arm.
    “Blaise! Blaise! Make it stop make the burning stop!” The five year old me just stared at my crying sister, he couldn’t do anything somehow he was more petrified than she was. He hated fire but he hated the stench of burning skin more, it makes him want to gag.

    Again the pain began to fade, leaving only the memory and even more tears. The fire was now only a few metres away from me and just a few centimetres away from a bottle of Vodka from the party last night. I’m not scared any more though; I just want it to hurry up so I can die. Then I’ll be with my family again.
    Suddenly an outline of a person came into view behind the fire holding a hose, I tried to sink back into the wall so the person wouldn’t see me but it didn’t work. As soon as he was about to hose the fire, it hit the vodka bottle and exploded. Making me finally black out.