Chapter Two : When the Earth Closed Over Them
1071 Words
It was twelve o’clock in the afternoon, the sun stood high in the sky, unforgiving and bright, as if the world had decided nothing tragic had happened at all.
I stood at the cemetery dressed in black from head to toe. A black dress, a black scarf wrapped tightly around my hair, black shoes that felt too heavy for my trembling feet. The fabric clung to my skin like mourning itself, suffocating, hot, unbearable. Sweat slid slowly down my spine, but I welcomed the discomfort. It reminded me I was still alive. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
The cemetery was full.
Too full.
People stood in clusters. Neighbors, distant relatives, acquaintances, people who had watched my family laugh, celebrate birthdays, share meals. Some had come out of respect. Some out of curiosity. And some had come to judge.
I could feel it.
The whispers didn’t even try to hide.
“That’s her… the one who survived.”
“They say she ran out first.”
“How does someone escape a fire and leave everyone else behind?”
“God forgive me, but if it were me, I would’ve gone back in.”
The words slithered through the air, wrapping around my throat, tightening until breathing hurt. I kept my head lowered, my fingers clenched so tightly together that my nails dug into my palms. Pain grounded me. Without it, I might have floated away.
The coffins were lined up in front of me.
Four of them.
Four dark wooden boxes resting quietly on the earth, waiting to be swallowed whole.
My father.
My mother.
My younger brother.
My little sister.
My entire world, reduced to polished wood and silence.
I couldn’t cry yet. The tears felt trapped somewhere deep inside my chest, heavy and burning. My body felt numb, hollow, as though the fire had burned everything inside me too.
The pastor’s voice floated through the air, solemn and gentle. Words about life, about God’s will, about eternal rest. I didn’t hear most of it. My eyes stayed fixed on the coffins, my vision blurring as memories crashed into me without mercy.
My mother brushing my hair every morning.
My father’s laughter filling the house.
My brother teasing me relentlessly.
My sister sleeping beside me on nights she was scared.
Gone.
All of them.
I swallowed hard, my knees trembling. A woman standing beside me, someone I barely recognized, reached out and touched my arm gently.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” she whispered, her eyes glossy with tears. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
For a moment, I wanted to lean into that sympathy. I wanted to collapse into her arms and let someone else carry this pain for just one second.
But then another voice cut through.
“If she hadn’t run out so fast, maybe she could’ve saved at least one of them.”
My breath hitched.
I turned my head slightly and saw two women standing a few feet away, their mouths close together, eyes sharp and accusing. They didn’t stop when they saw me looking. They didn’t look ashamed.
They looked convinced.
My chest tightened painfully.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to shout that I tried. That I burned my hands pulling my brother toward the door. That the ceiling collapsed before I could reach my parents. That the smoke choked me until I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
But grief stole my voice.
And guilt chained it.
The service ended too quickly, or too slowly. I wasn’t sure which. All I knew was that suddenly, men stepped forward, preparing to lower the coffins into the ground.
That was when something inside me finally shattered.
“No,” I whispered.
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
“No… please…”
My legs moved without permission, carrying me forward. I reached out, my fingers brushing the edge of my father’s coffin, the wood cold beneath my touch.
“You can’t,” I whispered again, my voice breaking completely now. “You can’t leave me like this.”
The world seemed to fall silent as sobs tore violently from my chest. I dropped to my knees in front of the coffins, my black dress soaking into the grass, my hands gripping the wood as if I could hold them there by force alone.
“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I’m so sorry. I tried. I swear I tried.”
My shoulders shook uncontrollably. Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, blinding me.
“I didn’t want to live without you,” I sobbed. “I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose to survive.”
Somewhere behind me, someone was crying softly. Others stood stiff and silent. A few shifted uncomfortably, their judgment momentarily shaken by the rawness of my grief.
But others remained unmoved.
“She’s acting now.”
“Too late.”
“Crying won’t bring them back.”
The words stabbed deep, but I barely heard them anymore. The pain had grown too large, too consuming.
As the coffins were slowly lowered into the earth, a sound escaped me that didn’t feel human. A broken, animal wail ripped from my throat as if my soul itself was being buried alongside them.
I reached forward desperately, dirt smearing my hands, my body leaning toward the open graves.
“Please,” I begged. “Please don’t go.”
But the earth didn’t listen.
Shovels struck soil. The sound was dull, final. Each thud felt like a nail sealing my chest shut.
When it was over, when the graves were filled and the crowd began to disperse, I remained there, kneeling, shaking, hollow.
People walked past me.
Some paused, murmuring condolences.
Some avoided my gaze entirely.
Some glanced at me with thinly veiled contempt.
By the time the cemetery began to empty, the sun still shone brightly overhead, cruel in its indifference.
I stayed.
I stayed long after everyone else had left.
I pressed my forehead against the fresh mound of earth, my tears darkening the soil.
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to live.”
The wind stirred gently, rustling the trees, offering no answers.
Only silence.
And in that silence, a terrible thought settled deep inside me, quiet, heavy, undeniable.
I had survived the fire.
But this…
This was where my life truly ended.
- Writer
