"Flames" // Short story

So I haven't posted a short story here in months, mostly because, um, I haven't actually written a short story in months. I've been too busy working on my WIP (which is the most awesome thing I've ever written but is also driving me completely  insane). But yesterday I learned about the writing contest hosted by Gracie Chick and Gracie Marchiani (actually I saw the post about it a few weeks ago but I, um, forgot)(Look I have a memory like a colander okay) and two of the writing prompts really grabbed my imagination, so I wrote this.

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed writing this story; I didn't think too much about what I was writing, I just sat down and let the words flow out of me and I put so much passion into it and it was just awesome. So thank you so much to Gracie and Gracie for hosting this contest! If you  have time I encourage you to enter their competition, the deadline is a week from now, click here to learn more.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy my story. If you enjoy reading this half as much as I enjoyed writing it, I'm a happy bunny.

Edit: I made a cover for it! I know it's not amazing, but I like it, lol

Nessa
“Nessa, they’re waiting for you. It’s time.”

I’ve been standing at the foot of the makeshift stage, my hands balled into nervous fists, sweeping my gaze along the crowd that has gathered inside this damp, dirty old warehouse. I’m still amazed at how many people showed up, and how different they all are. Old. Young. Wealthy. Poor. People from every walk of life. All crowded in here, united by a common dream. Waiting expectantly.

Waiting for me.

I turn to Ava, standing beside me. Her smile is both apprehensive and encouraging. Her intense dark brown eyes meet mine, and I feel some of the nerves in my stomach subside. I can do this. I have to do this. I don’t have a choice.

I take a breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”

She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Good luck. They’re going to love you, Nessa. You’re amazing. You inspire people.”

I give her a tight smile before turning away. I hope to hell she’s right.

I climb up the rickety steps to the stage, and step forwards, so I’m directly in the light of the spotlight that’s been hastily rigged to shine onto the stage. The assembled people have been talking quietly among themselves until now; the moment I step into the light, they fall silent.

Hushed. Expectant. Excited.

The atmosphere is electric.

I’m shaking from adrenaline, but I take a deep breath and start talking. “Hello, everyone. My name is Nessa Littlefield, and I’m the leader of the group known as the Flames.”

There’s murmurs among the crowd. They’ve all heard of me, presumably. I can see surprise in some of the faces, disbelief even. You wouldn’t expect the leader of the most well-known group of freedom fighters in this city to be a sixteen-year-old girl.

I meet Ava’s eyes, standing in the front row. She gives me an encouraging smile. I plough on.

“You’re all here because you want to know what we do,” I continue over the scattered murmurs. “You want to know more about us. Join us, even. You believe in our ideals.”

The crowd has gone silent again.

“We believe in freedom,” I say, my voice getting louder as I grow more confident. “We believe in everyone having the chance to decide their own fate.”

I sweep my gaze over the crowd. “We live in a society where our lives are defined by the social status that we’re born with, a society where we’re expected to bow our heads down and conform to the rules like good little schoolchildren, a society where anyone who tries to protest against cruel, unfair norms is called a terrorist and a criminal. We live in a society where we are not allowed to be who we truly are.”

I pause, and the silence in the warehouse is so intense you could have heard a pin drop. I can feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning into me. They’re desperately drinking in my every word. I have this crowd in the palm of my hand.

“The rest of the Flames and I, we want to change this. We want to create a world that is fair for everyone. A world where we are all free.”

Murmurs spring up among the crowd, of approval mostly, but some sound doubtful.

“We have been branded terrorists by the people in positions of power,” I say, and I’m almost shouting now, my voice echoing on the cold warehouse walls. “The ones who are in control of this society. They feel threatened by our ideas and would prefer it if the masses thought that we are criminals, not heroes. They don’t want change. They don’t want people to be free. They like being in control.”

I’m shaking again, but this time it’s not because of nerves; it’s because of passion. “They think they can control us!” I shout, and the cold stone walls shout my words back to me. “They think they can control what we think and what we feel and what we believe. They think that we will quietly accept being treated as mindless drones. They think that we will not fight back.”

I punch my fist into the air. “They are wrong!” I yell. “They are wrong! We will fight back. We will fight for freedom. We will fight!”

And to my amazement, to my joy, the crowd erupts into cheers. They chant my words back to me. “We will fight! We will fight!”

“Join us!” I yell. “Join our cause. Fight with us. Together, we will change the world. We will show them that we cannot be suppressed. We will show them how wrong they truly are!”

The cheering intensifies, ricocheting off the walls, filling every nook and cranny of this room, and they’re chanting my name now, over and over, and Ava is looking at me with so much pride in her eyes, and my heart is about to burst, and I’m shaking from euphoria, and this isn’t just an old abandoned warehouse filled with a ragtag group of people anymore, it’s the start of something, the start of a rebellion, the start of a revolution.

“We are going to change everything,” I say quietly, once the cheering has subsided. “We are going to change the world.”

My words echo one final time before fading away into a sea of hope.

***

Ten years later

Ava

I wake up choking on hot, smothering air. I wake up choking on ashes.

I jerk up into a sitting position and squint around. I’m on some sort of rooftop. I see the shapes of others curled up on the floor, nursing injuries, comforting each other, weeping disconsolately. Flickering amber light stains everything orange.

The stone floor I’m lying on is covered with a thick carpet of ash. I’m covered in ash, too; it’s on my skin, on my clothes, clinging to my hair. It’s on everyone else here, too. It’s raining from the sky. It’s everywhere.

I remember what happened in a rush and give a cry of anguish, scrambling up to my feet and staggering to the edge of the roof, stumbling over the bodies of the wounded until I get a glimpse of what is happening down below. I freeze in horror.

The city is burning. Livid orange flames race up buildings, lick at vehicles, run down roads. Charred, black buildings crumble into pieces of debris as I watch. A thick cover of smoke hangs above the whole horrifying picture.

Ash rains down and settles on my eyelashes.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”

“Hey, you’re awake. That’s good. More hands to help.”

I turn to see a wrinkled old lady standing beside me. She’d been tending to a couple of young children who had bad burns all over their bodies. Her eyes are haunted.

Tears are tracking down my cheeks. “This is wrong,” I whisper as I stare out at the burning city. “This is so, so wrong.”

The old lady clucks her tongue. “You’re damn right this is wrong. The attack was brutal. As far as we know, the people you see here are the only survivors. I don’t understand why anyone would do something so needlessly cruel.”

I reach into my back pocket and I’m relieved to find that what I’m looking for is still there. I pull out a wrinkled piece of paper. A photograph. I unfold it and look at the picture of the teenage girl with the short dark hair and the blazing eyes. Fresh tears trickle down my cheeks.

“Oh, Nessa,” I choke out. “What happened to you? What happened?”

The lady looks over my shoulder. Her face darkens. “Hey, ain’t that Nessa Littlefield? The leader of the Flames?” Her eyes blaze in anger. “Those terrorists that are to blame for this?”

I nod.

“You know her?”

“I knew her,” I say quietly, my throat burning. “A long, long time ago. I knew all of the Flames. I… I was one of them.”

The crackle of the flames and the cries of the injured fill the air.

I cough, choking on the floating ash. “This was when they were still freedom fighters. Before things changed. Before Nessa changed. Before the darkness consumed her.”

Firelight. Ash. Smoke. Pain.

“We were going to change things,” I choke out, weeping openly now. “We were going to create a world that was better for everyone.”

Fire. Tears. Grief. Darkness.

“We were going to change the world,” I whisper.

And around us, the world burns.