A/N: Hey! This is the first story I've posted to this site, normally I just write fanfics, but I certainly enjoy dabbling in the art of creating my own stories! This was a story I wrote for my Humanities class, but I decided to post it here! My teacher says that my ending is weak but… I've reworked this so many times to no avail so this is what you're getting! Sorry!


The most challenging thing that I do, I do almost daily. Coming out of surgery straight after losing a patient is difficult enough, but to see the small rays of hope fade from people faces faster than a lightning bolt as I tell them, all professional, that they would never see their child, their father, their sister, their friend again. That has got to be the most heartbreaking thing I'll ever have to do.

Today, as I drive my little black car home through the darkened city streets, that is all I have to think about. Oh sure, I could focus my thoughts on my upcoming surgeries,, the patients who would be going home or entering into rehabilitation, but naturally the only thing on my mind, is the worst thing on my mind. Those who never even got to wake up again. Well, not so much them, as their families. I always thought that they got the worst end of the deal.

I was leaving the city; the apartments and offices changing into trees and tall grasses. Home was just up ahead; my safe haven. It was the only place for me to fully relax. I lived with my son and my husband in a beautiful wooden house in the country, away from the perpetual traffic and hussle-bussle of the city life. It was a perfectly serene place to be.

Something was wrong; I could feel it. The air felt thick, as though all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, even inside my car. It seemed strangely hazy, almost spiritual, like a ghost or zombie could come wandering out of the cloud-like haze. If you believe in that sort of thing I suppose.

Then I realized, in a horrifying, gut clenching kind of way, what the haze was. Smoke. There was smoke filling the air and weaving throughout the trees to delicately infiltrate my car. It wasn't enough to be a forest fire, but it was too much to be a mere campfire. My mind immediately focused on the one place it could be. My house was the only one out here for miles.

I slammed in the gas at what must have been 1000 miles per hour as I winded, like a snake, along the twisting road. Then I saw it.


Not like those little fires in fireplaces, where the flames dance and laugh beautifully, teasing and coaxing you to join in, while this fire was beautiful, almost mesmerizingly so, it was also horrifying. The awesome power of the flames eating away at my wooden house like termites.

I had no time to admire its twisted beauty however; my thoughts were soley focused on my family. I called 911 but I knew it would take too long for the fire engines to arrive, as my house was far from the city. I made my split-second decision, and raced into the house through an opening in the flames.

The smoke was thick; far thicker than it had been outside, contained in my house like a caged animal. It burned my lungs and as I struggled to inhale through my sleeve, which I had put over my face, I forced my stinging eyes open blearily.

"Hello?" I shouted, but my voice was lost under the roaring of the dancing g beast.

I forced my way over a fallen bookshelf in my living room, and up the stairs. Making my way towards my son's room, I noticed the paint on the plaque on his door that said "Charlie's room" was peeling off from the intense heat.

That was where I found them both, after kicking the door open. Charlie had passed out from the pain and smoke inhalation. A dresser had fallen on top of him, crushing his small body to the floor.

My husband, Jason, was trapped against a wall. There was a ring of fire surrounding him and pushing him forcefully back. My grey eyes met his brown ones and he started pointing and mouthing words at me. I couldn't hear him, but I could see his mouth forming the words, "Get Charlie."

Being a Doctor, I was used to making split second decisions when operating. The choices that I make could either save or take someone's life. This, however was different. This was family. Pulling Charlie out first would undoubtedly kill Jason, but Charlie already looked dead, and taking him might end killing them both.

Jason was still pointing and screaming for me to take Charlie. I made my decision. My instincts were overtaking my body and I grabbed Charlie, pulling him out from under the dresser, ignoring the severe burns on his body and hugged him to my chest. I looked at Jason one last time, but he was already unconscious. Knowing that I wouldn't be awake for much longer either, I escaped the house, down the rickety stairs and out through a window.

The smoke was chocking me, wrapping its hands around my throat and cutting off my airway. I couldn't take it any longer. I passed out in the burning grass.

I had thought that the most difficult thing that I would ever have to do would be to tell people that their loved ones were dead. Dead because of me, because I couldn't save them. Now, laying in a hospital bed with the shattered remains of my life hanging around me, I truly understood that the hardest thing was being told that MY family, My loved ones were dead. How could I possibly go on now that all I had left was the knowledge that I had been unable to save my two most important people.


A/N: There you go! I am writing this for my final tomorrow, so let me know what you think! Review it up! I am going to start writing a joint story with one of my friends soon, its boyxboy so if you are at all interested, you should check it out! I don't know what it's called yet, but ill post the name soon!