Silent Inferno - Esmé Fromhart
When the burning began, we couldn’t hear it. Snow absorbs sound. But a smell filled the air, tickling our noses and burning the delicate hairs of our nostrils. At first it was a campfire, a familiar scent that brought warmth to our chests, until it became artificial. A plastic cutting board I had left too close to the stove, the corner seared and warped by an unforgiving flame. The smoke infiltrated the night sky, masking the stars with an eerie grey hue. The flames danced alongside one another; holding hands for brief moments to then violently disperse and unite once again with more intensity than before. The snow coated leaves of the trees stood in silence, unbothered by the erratic flames, their leaves dampened by the fresh layer of snow, slowly melting with the heat emitted from the crumbling house. The fire, fast, unforgiving, ate away at the layers of the house. Exposing it’s bones, a once hidden component of the house, yet the backbone of its structural integrity. Those within the house were once reliant on those bones, putting their trust into the house to protect them from the merciless winters. Now destroyed, this house once a safe haven. How long did it take them to notice the burning? To smell the smoke? Did they know their body was burning, did they feel the flesh of their calloused fingers melting before them. Their head filled with the noises they cannot silence, searching for a place that felt safe while her body, her being, unknowingly burnt to a crisp. The fire, indifferent to sorrows, uncaring for her pleads of a better life, silently ate away at her person. How did she not notice her life crumbling before her? How did she not see the signs? The flames maniacally dance around her burning body, teasing her, for they know she cannot control them. Her life amounted to the neon flames juxtaposed by the night sky, a fate from which she lacked control.
Esmé is a junior set to graduate in May 2026. She is currently majoring in English and minoring in Fine Arts.