The Day I Burned-Personal Narrative

There are days when the door to childhood opens and the adult emerges. I just never thought that I would go first. My phone rang. I blinked, looking down at the caller ID. It read Irene Stratton and in that moment my heart leapt into my mouth. In the way that my mother’s death could not, I was instantly filled with a chilling fear, a nameless dread for what could possibly have happened. Last I had seen Irene she had been restrained, strapped to a gurney, snarling and spitting at me, her pupils blown wide and entire body shaking like a leaf. She had glared at me, a black sort of hatred burning in her eyes. She had promised murder and torture and unimaginable horrors and I could only watch as the medical staff wheeled her away. Irene was the kind of person who would watch the world burn holding a pail of water for a grudge. The idea of her calling me after what I had done... I answered, a hand twisting at my stomach as I heard nothing but static. And then; "Jasper." I was in the front seat of the car in seconds, phone falling from numb fingers as I started the engine, pulling away from the sidewalk where my family still stood, all dressed in black and accelerated away without a backward glance. I had forgotten this. This... This rush. My heart

I had known, even then in the innocence of youth that she was using me. A witness to prove that her life was worth living. That she had crawled out of the pit of her wretched circumstances and made something of herself that any other privileged person would envy. It was alright though, for the thing was, I was using her too. Because Irene was never someone to be pitied, only ever admired and admiring her was quite possibly the best thing that I had ever