The first thing you did was wash yourself.

The blood clung to you from head to toe, sticky and suffocating. The metallic stench made your stomach churn. You ran upstairs, your bare feet cold against the wooden floor, and scrambled to clean yourself off.

The water was freezing as it ran over your skin, but you didn’t care. You scrubbed and scrubbed until the blood was gone, but no matter how much you washed, it felt like it was still there, soaked into your very being.

When you were done, you grabbed a bag—any bag you could find—and began packing. Clothes, food, anything that might help you survive.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew it couldn’t be here. If you stayed, they’d find you. They’d put you in an orphanage, and you couldn’t let that happen.

Once you were in a clean set of clothes, you slung the bag over your shoulder, its weight pressing into your back.

You took a deep breath and walked back downstairs, each step heavier than the last. When you reached the bottom, the scene in front of you made your chest tighten.

The bodies. They were still there, lifeless and haunting. Their twisted forms lay sprawled across the floor, blood pooling beneath them.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away. You couldn’t let yourself freeze now. You had a plan, and you needed to stick to it.

You moved quickly, rummaging through the cabinets until you found what you were looking for: the documents.

The papers that had your name, your mother’s name, everything that tied you to this place. Your hands trembled as you gathered them up, clutching them tightly.

You walked over to the fireplace, the warmth of the flames brushing against your face. For a moment, you hesitated, the papers clutched in your hands. This was it. Once you did this, there would be no going back.

Carefully, you threw the documents into the fire, watching as the flames consumed them.

The edges curled and blackened, the ink fading into ash. You stood there, staring into the fire as it erased everything that could connect you to this house, to this life.

You took a step back, the heat of the flames still warming your skin.

The house was next.

You couldn’t leave it standing.

If anyone came looking, they’d find too much. You had to make sure there was nothing left to find.

You stared into the fire, watching the papers vanish into nothing. The edges of the documents curled, glowing orange before they crumbled into ash.

For a moment, you couldn’t look away. Those papers had been proof of who you were, proof that you had a home, a family. Now, they were gone, just like everything else.

What would she think of you? You had fought. You had survived. But you were standing here, covered in the aftermath, about to destroy everything she had worked so hard to give you.

A small part of you wondered if she’d be proud. But another part—the louder part—whispered that she’d be horrified.

You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

You didn’t have time for this. Mama wouldn’t want you to freeze. She would want you to survive, no matter what.

The warmth of the fire brushed against your skin as you stood there, your gaze fixed on the flames. “I’m sorry, Mama,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your thoughts drifted to what came next. You had seen adults start fires before, but this wasn’t the same.

This wasn’t a small campfire or the cozy flames in the fireplace. This was different.

This had to be big enough to erase everything. You were only six, but you weren’t dumb. You knew what fire could do.