Flash Fiction

Bombing

Bombing

“Oh the angels and the devils too”, she whispered as the blood poured in torrents from her; all over her body, endless streams. I tried to put pressure on the wounds, no good with medical things, that was how they did it in the films I suppose. “They creep around inside of you” The lady’s voice, unknown to me a few short minutes before grew frail and weak now as the death passed through her. Dragged her toward one of the emergency exits, but it wouldn’t open. Something on the other side held it shut, and the heat inside rose steadily. “They steal your heart and soul and fly” .

Why couldn’t the bleeding just stop, why was it so hard to get it to stop. They said in the films to put pressure on the wound, why did they lie? They always lie, about the important things. They make everything look easy, and it’s not easy, none of it is; they don’t prepare you for the fear and shock and the hero is always brave and perfect and gets everything under control. “And hold you when it’s time to die”. I wrapped my shirt around her waist but it was no good, she bled out. I wasn’t the hero, the heroes that night were clad in luminous jackets and held big red fire extinguishers in their hands. When the firemen arrived I was finally able to let go of her.

On the stretcher I stared at the stars, I wondered if life was worth all this violence and terror. I couldn’t shake the thought of men exploding from my mind, why they decided to turn themselves into fireballs for that brief moment and destroy so much innocence. I wanted to be a star but never in such a literal sense as these murderous fire-men, men who become fire instead of quenching it. that change the world in planes or trains or city buses. Dreamt about getting away from everyone, about the sea and about a world where we aren’t killed by our own kind.

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