A group of us, 15 or so, are coming up the stairs. I know none of them. The stairs and the walls are made of dirt. It is a tunnel really. We are in a cave, leaving a cave, escaping a cave.
We come to a door. I am in front, with three others, trying to open the door. No handle, no window, a boulder maybe. No, a tree had fallen.
I bend towards the wood and see a tiny flame in the door, the tree. Something tells me this is the way out. If I can lift this burning piece, the tree will move. Someone has done this to us. Trapped us here.
The flaming key is no bigger than my palm. The fire is blue. I try over and over to touch it, pull it up. I tell myself to let my hand burn so we can leave. It grows hotter every time I reach for it.
I can’t. No one is angry. Disappointed. Hopeless. But not angry. We turn to descend. The smell of earth thickens in the heat. No one moves.
I can hear the fire singing our names, the sound as real as the morning.
I hear it all day.
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