Tragedies

She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like.  Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember.  But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan.  The man spoke.  She thought he looked rather dashing.  Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes.  Hm.  Handsome.  She had decided.
I'm coming, James.  Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house.  Rough shape?  Never.  The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman.  Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already.  It was devastating.  This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling.  It could be haunted. 
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
 They paused, admiring the home.  The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close.  She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly.  But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it?  What's wrong?  Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips.  Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing.  Oh James, I don't know about this.  I feel really uneasy.  Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed.  The pristine exterior was black and burnt up.  The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.

A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap.  She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now.  She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up.  But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor.  It felt so cool.  She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers.  It hurt, but she still had them.  They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.

Another flash crossed her vision.  She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her.  From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts.  And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room.  They couldn't get her in time.  They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.