Flames danced off the white walls, flickering and morphing into imaginary but horrifying monsters. I imagined just that. These were terrible monsters eating away at my house.
Then I heard the scream. The scream rang through the quiet streets, eliminating the false sense of peace and calm. That scream was out of place in my neighborhood. Perfectly mowed lawns, shiny mailboxes, trimmed hedges lining the polished walkways.
But then it I thought for a moment. Something felt familiar about that scream. My eyes widened. I recognized that scream. That was my mother.
I heard clattering, and I registered that the ceiling was caving in. The only thing I could do was listen as my parents died of shock and pain, as the house burnt to the ground. I had called the fire department, but I knew they wouldn't make it in time.
I had been falsely accused. And they probably were going to go to heaven thinking I killed them.
For my entire life, I had wished to be free from my overprotective parents, but now, I only wanted them to be here with their arms around me, comforting me.
I watched the fire from a distance, as the ambulances roared in the back of my head. I knew this was the end.
I curled up into a ball, silent, staring into my lap. This was all my fault. Or at least that's what my parents thought. And only their thoughts mattered.
But even though I never wanted this to happen, and I would live with the guilt forever, I felt something within me changing. I could feel a monster rising up in my soul. I felt my stomach cramping. I was hungry. But not for food. For revenge.