I was coughing. It was dark and I couldn’t see anything. I could smell the smoke though. It was thick and heavy in my throat. I reached for the light next to my bed but it wouldn’t come on. I stood, and staggered to the bedroom door. I wrenched it open. Outside in the hall, orange flames were working their way up the stairway. The air was hot and burned my throat. “Mom!” I screamed, “Mom!” The floor was hot on my bare feet. I ran to her room, and pushed the door open. “Mom!” I screamed at her sleeping form. She rolled over, still sleepy, uncomprehending. “Mom, the house is on fire! C’mon.” I went to her, pulling her from the bed. She rose in a daze, her hair wild around her head. “My God” she gasped. I pulled her into the hall. The air was acrid, thick and hot. I coughed uncontrollably. I felt lightheaded. My mother, in her daze, turned to the stairs. “No!” I cried grabbing her. We wouldn’t be able to get down the stairs. I pushed her into my brother’s room, slamming the door behind us.
