Isabella Modra's Blog, page 8

SURPRISE

This is literally my facial expression right now. Plus a few tears. I am staring at the word count and I cannot believe that 1000 people on this planet have actually looked at my book and considered reading it. 1000 people want to read my book! Do you have any idea how exciting that is for a 19-year-old author who has never had any book attention until now? When I started writing, I never imagined being here. Just to see those numbers means that my story is worth something, that it is desirable and good enough to be wanted by people.

I just want to thank each person who has entered my giveaway so far. You don’t know how grateful I am, how ecstatic I am and how blessed I am to be able to share my story with the world. I am just so excited to see how far it goes from here!

And someone needs to help me out of this facial expression before the wind changes.

Peace X

A Veronica Marks book series. My life is complete. For an...

A Veronica Marks book series. My life is complete.
For anyone who has not seen the television show, you do not have a life. Hire it (or watch illegally) right now.
Veronica Mars is a modern Nancy Drew filled with wit, romance, mystery and the smartest plotlines I've ever seen on a television show. The characters are believable, the suspense is enticing, and Veronica is a female protagonist that can inspire young girls to fight for what is right, that it's okay to be different and independent and - above all - to stand up for yourself. I was so excited when they announced a Veronica Mars movie, because it will forever remind me of writing mystery stories as a young teenager and being a badass.

The J.K Rowling Story

For those cool people out there who obsess over Harry Potter, and for authors who need a little push in the right direction, Magic Beyond Words is a story told about the wonderful J.K Rowling's rise to fame. It is such a wonderful rags-to-riches story, and an inspiration to those of us who come from the bottom, but don't give up on our stories. It makes our dreams that much easier to believe in.

J.K Rowling, I grew up immersed in the Harry Potter story, but it was your life story that inspired me to write. Thank you.

I found this picture a while ago. For those of you who do...

I found this picture a while ago. For those of you who don't know, the novel I've written is about a girl who has the power to control fire... and her powers end up controlling her. This picture perfectly portrays how I imagine Hunter when the fire is threatening to overpower her heart. It's amazing how realistic it is.

I dream every night. Many of the ideas I have for stories...

I dream every night. Many of the ideas I have for stories come from dreams, actually. I often have dreams that are so realistic, I can remember them for the rest of the day and actually invent plots from them. If you are a writer like me and you have a dream that sticks in your head, I encourage you to write it down the moment you wake up... you might find that you get a story out of it one day.

Happy dreaming X

Getting Published

I used to believe that it would be easy for my book to be attractive to literary agents and publishers. I wrote to about seven or eight agents in hopes of selling my book immediately. I got six rejections, and one who never wrote back. I entered a Pitch contest through a brilliant website called WriteOnCon, in which any author can submit a query for an unpublished book and have an assigned agent read it and suggest changes or request a submission to their agency. Some of the authors actually acquired a publishing deal through this contest, which is amazing for them! The agent who read my query wasn't a huge sci-fi fanatic, and therefore didn't ask for a submission, which I understood. And after a little while longer of submitting queries, I decided to take responsibility for publicizing my own novel. And that’s when I remembered a comment given to me by another blogger months before it all began.

“Why don’t you try publishing on Amazon?”
Huh. Amazon.
I brushed it off at first. Self-publishing was for desperate people, in my opinion (sorry to offend anyone, but now I'm self publishing so I guess I'm insulting myself...) But then I decided, what have I got to lose? I started researching self publishing by reading some success stories (Amanda Hockings' was particularly inspiring) and scouring forums for advice. Then I did something I never thought I’d do: I signed up to Amazon. Not just as a buyer, no. I signed up to a program called Create Space.
From there, I became obsessed. I had someone design my cover (posted below), I started making a template of my novel and I spiraled deeper and deeper into the amazing world of self-publishing. And let me tell you something: despite how difficult it is for non-US authors to get paid by Amazon (don’t get me started on royalties and taxes), self publishing is actually quite easy. The best thing about it? I control EVERYTHING.
So now that I have my claws on an official book and have organized promotions and marketing through my websites, I'm hoping and praying that when my book will be available on Amazon (and other affiliates), there are enough people who know about it and wish to buy it that I will make at least some profit.
Which is why I need your help. Sure, I’m just like any other indie author out there who wants their book to become the next Harry Potter or 50 Shades of Grey (maybe not) but doesn’t it all begin with the fans? With the people who spread the word? I’m new to this, so I have no idea where to start, and there are so many markets out there that I’m dizzy just thinking about it. But I need your help. I need to get my work out there. In just over a month, I’ll have my book available. And I’m terrified and ecstatic to discover what will happen.
So, in the meantime, spread Rouge like wildfire and hopefully, maybe, there’s a chance my story will be read by people who appreciate heroes and the hope they bring.

Peace X

Elsewhere

Many authors would agree with me on this one; our creative mind seems to drag our bodies to wherever it wants, whenever it wants. Sometimes it's just our minds that wander, but for me, I'm always craving a place called Elsewhere.

I'm a traveler. When I finished school 2 years ago (ew, I'm old!), my friend and I worked full time for almost a year, and then we went to Europe. Now by Europe, I literally mean the entire continent. We went to England, France, Spain, Italy, Austria, Switzerland, Sweden, Scotland, Ireland, Greece and Germany, to name the basics. We also spent 2 weeks in Egypt, which was both terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

I missed home a lot, but once I settled in again, I found myself being pulled towards the airport, my thoughts travelling (ha, pun) to the amazing places I still have yet to see. And since my profession as a writer will allow me to go anywhere I want to, I decided to plan another trip.

As of today, it is 3 months until I am off to CANADA! I have been offered a job in a resort called Nakiska in Alberta for the entire winter season (Nov-April), and after that, it is my deepest wish to travel the United States for however long it takes me, or until I run out of money.

Some people are afraid to leave their homes, some have no desire to leave their homes, and some people treat travelling as a sort of vacation away from work. I'd like to live my life on the edge, and travel and write at the same time. Sure, one day I'll settle down, but I'm not scared of where that might end up being. I'm excited to see where my writing and my wandering mind takes me.

Until then, I look forward to meeting you all in that wonderful place called Elsewhere.

It came!

I was so freaking excited last week when I received my first proof copy of my novel! It was one of those world-stops, sunshine-rays-cascade-down-upon-me moments. Then I screamed and my mum had a heart attack. Anyway, I had to share my excitement.

I just wanted to add an image of the cover. A wonderful a...

I just wanted to add an image of the cover. A wonderful artist named Renu designed it. For a self-published author, I think it's pretty damn believable, don't you?

Chapter 1

As his heart beat its last beat and he collapsed on the operating table, Liz saw in his eyes an indescribable amount of pain before they went blank. It was not a physical pain, as you would expect of death, but pain of the mind.
The heart-rate monitor beeped a long, endless tone. Stepping back shakily, Dr. Elizabeth Phillips and the nurse gazed down at the mess of sweat, grime and blood slashed across the patient’s pale chest and suddenly, for the first time in years, Liz couldn’t feel her feet.
He shouldn’t have died. He should have caught his breath.
Pink circles like slices of ham marked the place where the electrode paddles had seared his chest. Pearly, glazed eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling and a line of froth moved at snail-pace down his scruffy cheek. Everything he wore – right down to the frayed fingerless gloves and tattered gray parka – reeked of pungent body odor, street sweat and homelessness.
But it was only a seizure.
Liz knew that seizures were rarely fatal, even for a person whose immune system would be weakened by the cold of the streets. What had gone wrong? More importantly, what had she done wrong?
The mask caught onto her deep mahogany curls as she ripped it away from her mouth and told herself to breathe properly. The putrefying odor was beginning to choke her.
Halfway out the emergency doors with thoughts of finally going home after a very long day in the ER, Liz had already signed out when the paramedic team burst out of the ambulance. On a stretcher they wheeled a man covered in blood, thrashing like a maniac and screaming for release. She was one of the only doctors on duty that night and although she was drained, her instincts kicked in. The symptoms were obviously epileptic, although his temperature was climbing and he had large bloody gashes in is arms. Ignoring this, Liz directed them into the operating room. There, she turned him on his side, attached a gas mask and waited for the fit to pass.
Only it didn’t.
His heart rate shot up so suddenly it was as if the sound of the monitor was a grenade about to detonate. Liz was good under stress, but this patient frightened her. She didn’t know what he’d been taking, therefore she didn’t know how to treat him. And no force of electricity could revive him. His heart simply stopped functioning.
“I’m calling it,” she sighed and turned to Olivia, who hooked the paddles back on the machine, switched it off and turned to face her. “Time of death?”
“1:29 am,” said Olivia. There was something else on the tip of her tongue, but she was clearly too afraid to voice it.
“Cover him up then. And can you print a copy of the readings? Just put them in my office, I’ll look through it on Monday.”
Olivia did as she was asked, drawing the blue sheet over the man’s legs, waist, stomach-
“Wait!”
Olivia froze with the sheet clamped in her hands.
Something glinted in the white fluorescent light dangling from the ceiling. Apprehensively, Liz reached into the patient’s coat pocket and retrieved a rusty Swiss Army knife, slashed with blood.
“I guess being homeless wasn’t the most fulfilling life choice.” Olivia indicated to the wide slices in his arms and paint-strokes of blood across his face and neck. Liz gave her a harsh look and she recoiled. “I mean uh… he mustn’t be epileptic. Anyone expecting it would put the knife away, right?”
She handed Olivia the knife and threw her gloves in the trash beside the operating table. “Put this in the report too,” she muttered.
“Should I also mention his ramblings?”
Liz dipped a nod. That had been the strangest part of this very strange emergency. Just when she thought the electrode paddles had slowed his irritated heart, the patient suddenly lurched upright on the bed – almost knocking Olivia clean out – and snatched at Liz’s arm as though he were grasping for his life. With spit flying from between his decayed teeth, he screamed, “It’s burning! Please stop it, it’s burning!”
Mortified, she’d wrenched his hand away, the patient’s nails ripping at her skin, and the moment she lost contact he fell back on the table and died. It would be a long time before Liz could forget that look of utter agony in his eyes just before his heart failed.
“Yes,” said Liz. “Everything. Make sure the body is sent off to examination for an autopsy. We’ll need to know for sure if he was epileptic. Can you handle this?”
“I sure can.” Olivia covered the rest of the body and began switching off the electrical appliances. As Liz turned, Olivia gave her what would have been her usual warm smile, were it not for the thick cloud of anxiety in her eyes. As an intern, Olivia had only seen the standard emergency procedures and usually worked the night shifts. But this… this was something entirely different. Which posed a challenging question in Liz’s mind: why was it different?
Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to go home without the answer, she let out a loud sigh and turned to the supply drawer.
The doors to the ER opened and Dr. Mark – who had been watching from the other side of the glass – gave her a toothy smile as he strolled to her side.
“That was... interesting,” he noted. The regular dose of optimism seemed to radiate from his words, even if they were sarcastic.
If Liz wasn’t married, she would have fallen prey to his charm and good looks like most of the sexually available women at the hospital. That included Olivia.
“Schizophrenia is commonly an illness developed by epilepsy, right Dr. Mark?” Olivia beamed, clutching her clipboard to her chest like a schoolgirl.
“He may’ve overdosed on some sort of hallucinogenic drug,” said Dr. Mark, not even acknowledging Olivia. He took the fresh syringe out of Liz’s fumbling hands and ripped it out of the packet. Liz looked at him curiously. “Go home Liz. I’ll do the test and send you the results in an hour.”
“You’re sure? I was just taking blood samples-”
“Go! Olivia and I will take care of it.”
Liz wasn’t the only one delighted by this. Olivia was practically bursting with sexual tension. “Thanks Mark,” she smiled.
“Not a problem. God knows you of all people need a quiet weekend. You work too hard.”
“Somebody has to,” Liz grumbled good-naturedly.
As she crossed to the door, Dr. Mark pointed to her arm and said, “Might want to wash off that blood. I’m sure Leo’s looking for a less dramatic ‘Welcome Home’.”
Liz glanced down and compared her right arm with the other. It didn’t exactly bother her that someone’s dirty blood leeched into her skin. She always arrived home with blood somewhere on her clothes. What did make her frown was the memory of his pleas for release from whatever was torturing him. Was that why he cut himself? To tear out the pain? What kind of drug was he taking?
She shook her head quickly to get rid of the nauseating feeling swarming in her core and left the ER with a goodbye to Dr. Mark and Olivia. On her way out, she poured herself a black cup of coffee and signed the sheet at the receptionist desk again. Her shift ended an hour ago. She noted that down too.
The coffee was boiling, but she drank it anyway. As Liz unlocked the driver’s door, she made a mental note to wash the blood off everything tomorrow. Right now, she didn’t care.
Her eyes struggled to stay open driving along the Brooklyn Bridge, the flashing lights a blur amidst the black of night. Her hands clenched tightly to the wheel. She wound the window down to keep her cold and awake, the frosty New York air like sharp needles through her coat. It made her uncomfortable, but she grit her teeth and took another sip of coffee.
The familiar siren sounds of an ambulance blared past her along with the flashing red and blue lights, but all she heard was Leo – Leo – Leo. A shiver of excitement ran through her at the thought of what awaited her at home. Her husband of two years had been away for only a fortnight, but for Liz it felt like a lifetime. Not to mention how worried she was that he and his best friend Joshua Harrison – also a geologist – were travelling through Mexico into Cuba to explore a volcano. The two weeks seemed to drag, but she kept herself busy at the hospital, working more than her body could handle. She was exhausted and still shaken up from her most recent procedure, but altogether buzzing with warmth.
A car behind her honked sharply and the cup of steaming coffee slipped from her fingers and fell on her lap, spilling across her front.
“Shit!” She swerved dangerously close to the edge of the bridge and gripped the steering wheel in an effort to gain control. Ignoring the tooting of other cars behind her, Liz tried desperately to pull her wet shirt away from her skin. “Can this night get any worse?”
Once she reached the intersection, she turned left and continued along East River Drive. Their apartment was just before the Washington Market Park in a quiet suburb. Leo wanted a small place with cheap rent where he could study in peace. Liz just wanted a place with him in it.
As she pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of their apartment building, Liz became aware of a sudden burning across her forehead. Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, she groaned inwardly. Am I seriously getting sick again? Having worked so hard, the possibility of a flu didn’t surprise her, but it didn’t please her either.
As she locked the car with a mechanical click, her phone rang.
It was Dr. Mark.
“Hey. Got the results already?”
“He’s clean,” said Dr. Mark, “except for a substance called er… Feucotetanus.”
“Feuco-what?”
“That’s what I thought. ‘Tetanus’ is a disease caused by-”
“-Bacteria entering a wound, I know. He did show signs of rigid muscle attacks. I assumed that was a part of the seizure. Have you heard of it Mark?”
“Nope. I assume it’s a new recreational drug, though something as strong and rare as that would have cost a fortune. I have no idea how a guy like that got his hands on it.”
Liz rolled her eyes. Everyone at the hospital knew Dr. Mark became a doctor not because of his compassion for the sick, but for the title. “Okay… well if you have time, could you see if the hospital has any record of it?”
“I have all the time in the world, would you believe? This place is dead now.”
Liz climbed the cracked stairs and fished her keys out of her pocket. “It’s a hospital, Mark, it’s never dead.”
There was an elated squeal on Dr. Mark’s end. He uttered a quick “shh!” and chuckled deeply.
Liz rolled her eyes. Typical Mark, she thought, taking advantage of the stupid new interns. “Do some real work, Mark,” she said.
“I am,” he replied. “Olivia is testing out the efficiency of this wonderful defibrillator. We’re using a low voltage, don’t worry.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” Liz groaned. “Make sure you clean it thoroughly. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Roger that, enjoy your night!”
Liz entered the dank lobby – which was more like a corridor – and felt a sweat break out across her forehead. Her palms were already sticky. What the hell kind of flu is this? Liz glanced at the scratch across her forearm and had a mini heart-attack. Relax, she assured herself. There was nothing wrong with the guy. It was just a seizure, and the cut isn’t big enough to draw too much blood.
Liz swung open the door to their apartment and dumped her bag on the swamp-green recliner. Leo had fallen in love with the chair when they’d found it in a garage sale downtown. She thought it was revolting.
The apartment was cluttered with junk Leo had collected over the years from expeditions with Joshua. Liz didn’t mind the artifacts, nor did she mind the messy feel that came with it. These ‘flaws’ just made it all seem more like home. A lot of it belonged to Joshua, who lived alone and often stayed with them when his apartment became too empty. Besides, Joshua couldn’t cook himself instant noodles let alone a nutritional meal.
But their worn-through maroon couch was as lonely as Joshua’s life, and relief washed through her. She wanted Leo to herself without their awkward friend listening in on them in the bedroom.
Liz crossed to the study, the familiar aroma of rich dirt mixed with Chai tea sending her heart into a frenzy of desire. She could hear muttering and the ruffling of work notes and suddenly the day – the entire fortnight, even – no longer mattered.
In the doorway, Liz gazed upon her husband’s disheveled office. Pictures of he and Joshua climbing mountains, hiking amongst forests and trekking through ancient caves were tacked all over the brick wall on the right. Liz never had time to go with him; work was too demanding. But when they were younger and she was only studying, Leo packed their bags and they went travelling together through the Inca Trails in South America and across the wintery mountains of Nepal. His backpack lay unzipped next to the desk and clothes, papers and miscellaneous objects lay spread across the wooden floor.
A warm feeling as though someone had trickled hot water onto the tip of her head spread throughout Liz’s body. Leo was bent over a sheet of paper, scribbling away, so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the boards beneath her. Damp, curly brown hair hung over his glasses, which were slipping to the edge of his nose as he tried to get the last few words down on paper.
“Hey stranger.”
Leo glanced up at Liz in the doorway and a smile spread through to his amber eyes. He crossed the room, embraced his wife and swung her around in circles across the dimly-lit study. She laughed, clung tightly to his thickly muscled arms and kissed every inch of his face as he lowered her down.
“I missed you,” she murmured. Her hands gently brushed through his hair.
“Me too,” he said. “Joshua’s not enough for me. I need a real woman.”
She slapped him playfully across the shoulder and kissed him again. Leo became slowly more passionate, his hands moving down her back to her hips. She pulled them away.
“What’s wrong?” He joined his hands and locked her between him. “Lizzie, I’ve been hiking up a volcano for the past week, living in this dodgy shack with Joshua to keep me company. You have no idea how much I want you right now.”
“I can imagine,” she muttered, her fingers tracing his cleanly-shaven jaw line. He smelled so fresh. A shower, she thought, that’s exactly what I need. “I’m really tired Leo. I was supposed to finish an hour ago but the hospital was so busy. And this last patient was…” she sighed and shook her head. “I can’t even explain it to you.”
“Is that why you’re covered in blood? And-” He sniffed her shirt just below the breast pocket and she chuckled. “-Is that coffee I smell?”
“Long story.” She pulled out of his grasp. “I’m taking a shower.”
“Can’t we talk? I have so much to tell you. Joshua and I found this incredible substance formed in a volcano.” He reached for something on the desk and held up a deep-black stone, rough and inaccurately round. Liz started at the stone with as much enthusiasm as a tree, listening to her husband’s jumbled words topple in a rush of excitement out of his mouth. He’s so damn cute when he talks about rocks. “I’ve never seen anything like it before Liz, seriously it’s out of this world. Here-”
Before Liz could protest, he shoved the stone in her hands and she fumbled with it unsteadily. The rock was definitely very artificial looking, with black sandstone crumbling off the outer surface. As Liz held it tight, the stone began to heat in her grasp. Leo was watching her with a smile so wide he looked a little creepy. She handed it back to him and felt a shock go up her arm, as if the stone had some sort of static.
“It’s wonderful Leo, but-”
“Ow!” Leo dropped it back on his desk as if it had just come out of the oven. “Shit that’s hot.”
Liz laughed. “Yeah right, you can be such a pussy sometimes.”
“I-” He peered at her and then the stone. “You didn’t feel-”
Liz pressed her lips against his to silence him. “Later, Leo. Can I please take a shower before we delve into your incredible adventures?”
He sighed. “You’re a tease, aren’t you?”
She gave him a cheeky smile. “I’ll be five minutes.”
Gratefully slipping into the bathroom, Liz stripped and moved under the hot flow of water. The entire room steamed instantly. As she washed away the blood, coffee and stress of her week, a nervous energy rose inside her. They had the entire weekend together to stay in bed.
She glanced down at her arm. The blood had cleared away, leaving a pathetic cut emitting a slight sting. There was nothing unusual about it, no infection. She sighed in relief. Now she could relax.
There was a knock on the door and Leo entered. Liz took one look at her husband stumbling blindly around with glasses as foggy as the mirror behind him and cracked up laughing. She wrapped herself in a towel before Leo found her and hoisted her over his shoulder, marching them to the bedroom.
“You’re gonna get it now Lizzie.”
Liz laughed uncontrollably and screamed with mock annoyance. “Leo, put me down!”
“Yes ma’am.”
He threw her onto the bed where a pile of his papers were scattered across the sheets. In seconds, Liz’s towel was on the floor next to Leo’s sweatpants and T-shirt. His arms encircled her body as his kisses explored her and the heat Liz felt earlier in the lobby began to burn inside of her. She knew what was coming and she welcomed it, relief and comfort washing away every other stress-related feeling inside of her.
Leo grabbed her waist and threw her passionately against the headboard of the bed. It creaked loudly like the springs on the mattress, and Liz threw her hands out to cling onto something. Her vision blurred and she gripped the bedhead, about to burst like a balloon with passion and ecstasy.
It was then, when Liz felt as if she really would explode in every cell of her body, that a hard, hot object on the bedside table toppled to the floor and cracked open.
A pool of bubbling, red molten-lava spilled across their bedroom floor. At first the noise was ignored, the couple so enriched in their passionate embrace that they didn’t see the trail of red liquid squirm towards them, as if it were embodied by something living. The lava shimmied like a snake up the bed sheet which dangled to the floor and onto the mattress, where it wriggled its way through the creases and began wrapping itself around Liz’s legs.
Liz let out a gasp. Not because she had seen the strange liquid snake making its way up to her knees, but because something inside her reached breaking point and an enriching warmth exploded around her.
Breathing heavily, Liz smiled, opened her eyes and became instantly blinded.
A fire had started on the bed. She felt her lungs fill with smoke and gripped Leo’s shoulders.
“Leo!” she shrieked. But the sticky sheet wrapped around him was already alight.
Leo jumped back in shock, twisting over and staring, horror-struck at the blaze that surrounded him.
All her years working in the ER should have prepared her for this, but something about the sight of Leo writhing in contorted agony froze all her muscles as though they were cemented. She watched the flames lick up his legs, his stomach, his chest, his face...
A scream of pure torture fell out of Leo’s mouth and Liz snapped to life. She leapt from the burning bed – dodging flames that crawled across the floor – and threw open their wardrobe, wrenching from it a thick throw rug. She jumped back to the bed and began slapping the flames from the bubbling flesh on her husband’s body. Call 911, a calmer voice in her mind ordered, reminding her of the steps she had read in her college textbooks. Get him to the ER before the burns become irreparable. Liz threw down the pillow, her breath coming out in short bursts and reached for the cordless phone. That was when she saw that everything on the besides table was ablaze.
Liz stepped back and turned, watching as the room around her transformed so suddenly, it was as though her life had been put on fast-forward. All she could see now were flames. Golden, deadly, blinding flames. She didn’t cough, she didn’t cry. She simply stood there.
“What’s happening?!” she screamed, either to her dying husband or to herself. She looked down at her naked body, flames of death wrapping their fatal ropes around her, but felt no pain.
Perhaps it was the shock that had made her immune to the suffering. She might already be dead, and this was just her ghost watching her husband and her apartment burn. Or maybe it was only a dream and soon she would wake up, wrapped in his strong arms, seeing his smiling face rather than one mutated with torture.
“This isn’t real,” she muttered, grabbing fistfuls of her hair tightly. “I’m dreaming…”
Afraid to look at the bed again where Leo lay, Liz backed up against the wall. Her heel crunched down on something sharp and hard and she screamed and fell down beside a broken, black stone. Leo’s stone.
There was nothing in it.
Everything was loud. The fire was destroying the apartment, and Liz tore her attention from the rock, realizing with a jolt of her stomach that she was sitting in a building about to crumple in on her. Gritting her teeth, Liz shot a quick glance at the still body of her husband drowning in flames, feeling as though her heart had just been wrenched out of her chest, and ran to the door of the bedroom.
The fire had consumed the apartment. Never before had she seen a blaze devour anything so quickly. How long had she been frozen in horror for? How long had these flames licked at her own body and not burned her? There’s no time to worry about that now. Her rational voice was back. Get out.  
Before she could make it to the front door, one of the rafters collapsed with a thundering crash, blocking her way out. Sparks hissed at her, leaping at her body and then disappearing within seconds. She hyperventilated and stared wildly around, searching for an exit. The window, she thought and dived for the living room wall, throwing it open and ducking under the frame into the alleyway between her building and the next. She wobbled on a crate before jumping onto the concrete and sprinting to the street.
An alarm was wailing. As she came to the front of the building, she saw others running out of their homes. They shouted and scattered like ants, on their phones calling the fire department and the police. No one had seen her.
Not knowing what else to do, Liz began to run. She forgot about her car and her keys, about her clothes and her apartment and ran away, away from her life with Leo. Tears streamed from her face as she sprinted through the cold, deserted suburbs of New York. It wasn’t until she had turned down a small alleyway into a dead end with only a bin full of old unmentionables that she realized she was naked, but still burning up. She fell on the concrete, curling up beside a dustbin and crying silently. The image of Leo’s body danced in her mind. Liz opened her eyes and looked down beside her where a broken bottle lay, a flash of red catching her eyes. She frowned through her blurred vision and picked up the bottle carefully. Her reflection gazed back at her, only it was hardly her reflection at all.
Liz’s hair glowed, blood-red and ablaze like the fire that had just taken her husband’s life. She threw the bottle down in fright and stared at her skin. Orange vines snaked around her arms, her legs and her entire body, as though she were infested with oversized worms. It looked just like lava, coursing through the veins beneath her skin. Not a single burn marked her, and only the tiny slice the homeless man’s fingernails had made in the ER remained as proof she was still human.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Liz gazed once again at her reflection in the glass bottle and saw that it was real, that she wasn’t dreaming. That her hair had turned red on its own and her skin glowed like the sun. That Leo was really dead. That he had burned in a fire that took her apartment and her life with it. That she was left broken and alone in a dark alley, just like the discarded bottle.
That she was immune to fire.