Trial By Fire

Icy cold. A barren plain. Stretched out. Empty. Alone. Cold cold cold. Back is cold. Shiver. Darkness. Pitch black. Shiver. Freezing cold. Shiver. A light. Dull. Pulsating. Growing. Warmer. Warmer. Comfort. Heat. Life. Growing and growing, warm, hot, scorching. Too hot. Stop. Stop. Face is hot. Stop. Hot. Lying in water, sweating. Go away, stop, no more. Still hot, always hot. Come back cold. But still hot and hotter and burning and scorching everywhere everything stop stop stop go away. Field is full. Burning. Shouts. Cant breathe. Stop. Hot.
Aaron's eyes snapped open. A burning tree had fallen mere feet from his face. My burning bush, he thought with a wry smile. The snow around him had melted. Leaving him soaked, although parts of his jacket were starting to singe. He jumped up, away from the heat. Survival came first, always. Don't steal, just survive. That would be his new motto. He ran to the far side of the churchyard, where there was some un-melted snow, and shoved his burning face in it. The pain eased.
It was then that he thought of the priest. The cranky old curmudgeon who had taken him in without question, and who had given him food. Like Les Miserables, he thought. Funny how shit from high school comes back at the weirdest times. Anyways, the old man was most likely burning in the house. Aaron owed him. The church was burning on this side, and the edge of the fire was on top of where the old man slept. The right thing to do would be to save him, but Aaron paused. If the cops came, he would be questioned. Who are you, where are you from, why did you do this? He could hear the sirens now, echoing in his head.
Stay or run. Save him or save yourself? Aaron thought back to her, and realized the jade dragonfly was still clutched in his hand. He thought back to the sleepless nights, where he just wished he could have saved her. Wished she wouldn't have gone so far, wished he had stopped her. And he knew what he had to do, even as the police lights screeched up the road.
The smoke choked him with his first breath. He doubled over and put his shirt over his face. His eyes stung, his burned and swollen face seared with pain. Had to keep going. He ran down the hallway, through the chapel to the old mans room. The walls were burning, the ceiling was burning. Aaron didn't stop running. He ran straight to the old man's bed, a simple cot, and hoisted him onto Aaron's shoulder. Then he was running again, off balance, slower because of the extra weight. His legs were sandbags: slow. Too slow. His lungs burned. Running. And then he was out, cool air, clean air. He dropped the priest. And he couldn't stop coughing. The police were there, standing there, and here he was, old man at his feet, coughing his life away to prison. Like a twisted laugh, thats all a cough was. A laugh gone wrong. He fell over, next to the man, laughing as the cops and firemen sprinted to him. They think that they're saving me, he thought, and the coughing grew all the louder. That's when he passed out.