I looked up at the grey snow raining down on me, burning my face, wondering why it was me the universe chose to curse. Glancing at the sight in front of me, I suddenly feel like I’ll vomit up everything I ate in the last few hours. My eyes start watering, eventually turning into an unending stream of tears. My eyes are locked on to the charred bodies of my parents, unable to look away.

I hear a crash to my right, and I tear my eyes away from my beloved parent’s bodies, and see a burning table collapse in front of my eyes. It then hits me that I should get out, get away from this burning house, but I can’t move. I’m stranded in my thoughts, the fire gobbling up everything in its sight, somehow still not anywhere near me.

My eyes are drawn back to my parents, whose bodies are still burnt and charred from the fire, eternally the same position. My mother has a terrified, frantic look on her face, the fire perfectly capturing the moment pure terror crosses her mind. My father, on the other hand, is eternally trying to defend me from the fire with his body, eternally failing.

My eyes then catch a glimpse of a shining metal in my mother’s hand. I realise that she’s holding the locket she loves more than her own family. My legs automatically move robotically, my movement out of my control. I walk up to my mother and crouch down, snatching the locket out of her hand. I hold it up to my eyes, looking at its design, happy that I took my mother’s favourite possession off of her, forever relieving her of it. I’m almost tempted to throw it in the fire, but I decide to keep it, if only to torment her.

I then glance at my father, wondering what I can take of his that will remind me most of him. I glance around the dying house around me, searching for anything precious to my father, desperate to find a piece of him. My legs are no longer frozen, now actively searching the house for anything he treasured. As I walk around, the fire recoils away from me, allowing me to pass through unharmed. I head to his room, hoping to find something, anything of his. I frantically search through his room, trashing the place in the process.

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I suddenly feel the urge to cough my lungs out, and so I do. Painfully so. My hands go up to my eyes to wipe my tears dry, allowing for a clearer view of the ruined place around me. I then see an unharmed picture frame of our family on a hike. We went to Canal Rocks, and we all looked absolutely happy, ignorant to the imminent danger we would face a few weeks later. I pick up the picture frame, and head out of my father’s room. I look to the left, to the burning fire devouring everything in its path. I feel surprisingly numb to my parent’s death, with my only thoughts being on how to preserve their memory. I’m not sure if this is bad, but I’m supposing it is. I turn to my right, completely ignoring the fact that I could save the bodies of my parents, and head outside through the front door.

When I get outside, I fish through my pockets for a key, place the key on the inside of the door, and break the key while it’s still in the lock. I turn away from the house, saying goodbye to my family forever.

I then take a deep breath, preparing myself for my upcoming performance. After I calmed down sufficiently, I look up at the sky and start thinking of everything that would make me cry; My mother’s tears as she looks at the locket fondly, my father’s laugh as he teases me for being slow when we’re out on our weekly hikes, our Christmas tradition where my mother and I dress up as elves and my father dresses up as Santa, my school friends I left behind because my parents thought Canada was too cold, so they came to live here in Australia, and all the times I’ve hugged them and been hugged by them, all the times they’ve said they love me, and I’ve said it back. Tears start forming and sliding down my face with no intention of stopping. I start wailing very loudly, crying for my mother and father, clinging to anyone that passes by to save them from the fire. I wonder if my act sufficiently fooled them. I wonder if anyone would believe my story, not taking it for the delusions of a young child. I wonder if they’ll find out that I started the fire. But I know that I’ve not left a single piece of evidence behind. If anything, the trail of clues will lead to my parents, as I’ve carefully cultivated a picture of child-abusive parents in the eyes of others.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman phoning emergency services, asking for an ambulance and some firefighters. I smile slightly, my façade breaking for only a second before returning to a 10-year-old girl devastated by her parent’s death in a house fire.