oneword.com

On the word: BURN

My eyes open to red. I take a few momements until my mind comprehends how hot everything is.
I rip off my covers and jump out of bed. Everything’s on fire. The curtains to my windows burn into nothing in mere seconds.
I’m to scared and confused to scream. I can only think of my family. I run out of my room into the hallway, down the stairs, and into my mom and dad’s room. They’re not there. I turn to run back upstairs, but at the top of stairs lies a wall of curling smoke and shifting shades of red. I run into all the other rooms downstairs, but I can’t find them. I pass by a mirror, and I catch a glimpse of how red my face is. I’m sweating immesnsly, my clothes sticking to my body. I’m starting to feel faint.
Downstairs is clouded with smoke now, and as I spin around, searching frantically for my parents, I can hardly make out anything. I duck and hold my hand over my mouth, coughing now. I burst out the front door, and fall onto the grass, wet with morning due, a heavy contrast of cold against my blistering skin.
I coughing now, heaving, my stomach contracting, trying to throw up. I look at my house, and the windows looks like flaming eyes.

My eyes fly open, and I sit up in bed, staring at blackness. I fumble with my lightswitch, and the lights to my room flick on. I exhale, running my fingers through my hair. Fucking hate nightmares.
I sit the rest of the night in silence curled up in my covers, missing my parents, hating the fire that claimed them.