I remember the pain. I felt as if I was being suffocated. That scorching heat. My skin started to burn. I felt as if my lungs were being filled with smoke. Was this my fate? Was I truly going to die? All those thoughts crossed my mind that day. I thought of my mother and my father. I wondered if they had managed to get out of the house safely. As I slowly began to close my eyes, accepting that I was most likely about to die, I felt someone shout my name. "Gretchen! Gretchen!" I didn't react. It was so peaceful. Sure painful but when I closed my eyes the pain didn't feel so great. I knew I was going to die soon anyways so I assumed it wouldn't last. To my annoyance at the time, the constant shouting of my name didn't stop. Whoever was calling for me kept asking where I was, to respond, to come to them. It angered me. Why couldn't I have just died in peace. Suddenly I saw the door burst open. To my surprise it was my father. He rushed toward me picking me up off the bed. He cried while carrying me out through the flames. Just when we were towards the door I noticed his hair caught fire and it quickly spread to his clothes. I was shocked. He stood by the door holding me. He then kissed me on the forehead before throwing me out of the burning house and into the arms of a firefighter. That was the last time I saw him or my mother. It was said she died because a piece of burning wood fell on her. Trapping her in the bathroom.
