Feelings. Maybe we all feel different types of pain, anger, sadness, etc. The symptoms that we all think we feel are just a caricature of a general feeling multiple people feel. We take those symptoms and use them to teach feelings. At school, we are taught that anger is a feeling of strong annoyance. We are taught that the feeling of sadness, is feeling or showing sorrow. I feel a different type of sad.
I feel a different type of anger. Maybe they feel a different type of sad. Maybe they feel a different type of anger. Those were the vagrant thoughts spiraling through my head on the way to visit the victims at the hospital.
I could have been one of the victims. I could have been robbed of a childhood. My life could have come to a seize. On November the 5th 1996, at nine forty-five am; death was my destined faith. It was the destined faith for most of us on that day. It all happened quickly. It really did. On my way to 3rd-period history class a; fire broke out on the second floor. I was on the first floor. Alarms rang. We evacuated. The alarms were the source of most of our panic at the time; maybe our panic would have been sourced from something else if we knew what had really happened on the second floor at nine-forty-five am that day. My panic was not due to the alarms. My panic was due to me knowing what had really happened on the second floor that day. I knew because I was there when the fire broke out. Hadn’t I made it to the first floor before the fire consumed the depths of my soul; I would be dead or injured. Dead or injured just like the other thirty-four people on the second floor that day. In a utopian world, I would have probably died. I deserve and merit death, in a way.
I could only give a vague description of the fire to the men in uniform. For the inferno swept through the school at a concerning rate. The dancing flames were at the pinnacle of their game. They influenced our lives that day to a great extent. I was at the end of the hallway; human activity was very little since I was late to class. Everyone else on the second floor was in their classrooms; waiting to become enslaved by the flames. Screaming. Silence. Apprehensive and disquiet moving; all indicated tragedy. Illuminated in a light so lucid were the colors red and orange. The color red is usually associated with danger. The danger was what stood before me at nine forty-four am that day. I ran. Involuntary and hopeless ; I ran leaving the perished behind. That was the only thing I could remember that day; my mind was hazy, and my senses were flat. The colors red and orange still paralyze my vision. Whenever I close my eyes and darkness seizes my world; I have an evocative hallucination. Red and Orange tend to be a dominant part of my hallucinations. I link those colors to the dancing flames. The dancing flames now own me. Maybe I have become enslaved by the flames as well.
Spiraling thoughts. Spiraling thoughts were what made my entire anatomy ache; while waiting to visit the victims at the hospital that day. I bit my right hand’s index finger. A sign of a flourishing worry. The hospital’s air was a sickening type of clean; the smell of bleach and gift shop flowers reeked in the air. The sterile white and blue hospital attire; emphasized the fact that I was in a hospital. I decided to relate the colors white and blue to a sense of worry. When it was time to enter the room, where the victims were at rest; an overwhelmed feeling engulfed my system. This feeling had been there for a while. I did not personally know these people. we were schoolmates and that was all we really were. However, our lives were all greatly impacted by the dancing flames. That connected us to a great extent.; but I was less of a slave than they were. When I brought myself to enter; ten high schoolers ( may the other twenty-four rest peacefully) laid on rutted hospital beds. A sense of dwindling hope was evident in their eyes. I gave them gift shop flowers, and in return, they unraveled their stories about how they were enslaved by the red and orange inferno. They undoubtedly had a more striking description of the natural killer. I listened intently to their tale and mine too. They opened my eyes and I open theirs. Time wasn’t on our side and before I knew it, I had to leave. When I did leave the hospital, I had evaluated my muddled-conscious mind.
Feelings. Yes, we all feel different types of pain, anger, sadness, etc. The symptoms that we all think we feel are just a caricature of a general feeling multiple people feel. We take those symptoms and use them to teach feelings. At school, we are taught that anger is a feeling of strong annoyance. We are taught that the feeling of sadness, is feeling or showing sorrow. I feel a different type of sad.
I feel a different type of anger. My anger is sourced from regret. My sadness is sourced from mourn. The victims do feel a different type of sad. They also feel a different type of anger. Their anger is sourced from pain and agony. Their sadness is sourced from a feeling that revolves around loss and sorrow. We both feel pain and we both feel sadness. Perhaps (with time) we will both feel the same type of anger and sadness. For on November the 5th 1996, at nine forty-five am; we were all enslaved by the flames.
My character is a high school girl who has experienced a tragedy. Consuming thoughts is something that makes her a dominant figure. She has a dynamic way of thinking. The story explores how the tragedy affected her and others to a great extent. :))))