There's a smell, like burning. It's strong in my lungs and burns my nose. But I'm smelling it for the first time since I got out and it's beautiful. It's dark and smoky, rich and whole with the flavor of fire. That's the first sing that I know that I'm alive. I can feel my lungs moving within me and almost hear my heart beat. But as soon as I'm aware it stops and I have the urge to hold my breath. I can almost hear my heart above all the screaming that's going on. Its high pitched and winy, going on in the same pattern for minutes, almost like a dying song bird on repeat; it screams for attention. The weight of myself is soon in attention. I am and have been a full human body. A body with legs and arms and a head; on that head I have a nose that burns of the smell of smoke, a mouth that is breathing in said smoke and eyes that do not want to open in case I am in said smoke. But I open them anyway. There are two colors I know for sure black and white. The blackness and emptiness of the world I lived in until this day and the whiteness and blinding realty of this world. The world that was in fact on fire.