April 4, 2021
It’s been about a month and a half since it happened. The fire alarm rang at one in the morning. Annoyance turned into concern as commotion erupted in the apartment building. Concern turned into groggy focus as I sharpened my blunt mind, wits slowly returning like a bee blundering free from a batch of sticky batter.
I made the first tough decision to put on some clothes before escaping. Better to risk only a chance of dying, rather than the certainty of dying of embarrassment. Besides, nothing seemed to be collapsing around me. Jeans, shirt, socks, jacket, shoes. I was finally outside.
“There’s a fire on the third floor!” Someone yelped in an alarmingly panicked tone. Seemed like an overreaction, but I went around the corner to see. Sure enough, an eerie orange glow emanated from inside the third floor apartment. This was the same building I called home for the past four years.
“Okay, the person up there is surely out by now,” I thought to myself. I had to decide what things I should save from my own room on the first floor. Laptops, yes. Important documents folder, yes. Everything else was replaceable.
I came back out and looked up on the second floor walkway where a few people unsuccessfully tried to open the fire extinguisher’s protective glass case, and were now banging on doors to see if anyone was still asleep. “Shit” was the word that occurred to me. I had to try to put out the fire before it had a chance to get out of control.
I put down my things and ran up the stairs and over to the fire extinguisher case. Elbow smash! Worked like a charm! Took it up to the third floor and remembered the episode of the office where Dwight set (fake) fire to the office. If the handle is hot then don’t go in. It wasn’t hot, but for some reason it was locked. Strange.
If you escaped already from a burning building, why bother locking the door behind you? If you notice a fire, wouldn’t you proceed to the door, open it, and then leave? Unless you didn’t notice, but how could you not? The word “suicide” entered my mind. Someone wants to go out in a blaze. If I wasn’t on high alert before, I was now. Whoever (if anyone) was inside, as best as I could deduce, wanted to die. If he (or she?) was insistent, he might attack me if I tried to save him.
Luckily, a guy came up to help me kick in the door. “On 3,” I said. “One, two, three,” *kick* “One, two, three,” *kick*
The door crunched open, expelling smoke that had been building up inside. I couldn’t see anything through the dark abyss. Fire extinguisher in hand, I crouched down. I saw some embers through the front door. I shot at them, but putting out random embers on the floor was pointless. I ventured farther inside, a few steps more, still crouched. I told my door-bashing partner to stay low, but he didn’t seem to think going inside was a good idea, and stayed put at a distance.
The heat hit me. I was only a few steps in, trying my best to find the source of the fire, but it wasn’t any good. If I ventured any deeper, I’d be risking my life.
That was the moment I saw it. I was still crouched when I saw to my left the soles of two bare feet. He was face down in a kneeling position with his butt in the air, in sort of like a yoga position or as if worshiping some deity. Although, he made no movement at all – completely still, and was, as far as I could tell, a corpse.
The smoke, the heat, and now the fear surrounded me. I didn’t feel the fear at all until that instant. The situation until then was set in reality. The laws of science and reason ruled. Fire travels up; don’t inhale smoke; this is a fire extinguisher. Facts. Simple. Things I understand.
If I have a superpower, it’s the ability to mimic the feelings and thoughts of the people I meet. I’ve always been exceptional at copying and being a natural mimic.
When I used my powers on this man. I felt something so dark, so desperate, so… evil. It freaked me out. Most people you meet aren’t so bad. Maybe oblivious or self-important, maybe not admirable, but always understandable. What I felt in that room was a complete lack of love… a void with no hope. The last traces of goodness burnt to ashes long before this fire had ever started. The depths to which one would have to sink would be on par with the dungeons of Hades himself.
The man’s body wasn’t moving, and in all honesty looked like a corpse. It was too late. It didn’t matter any more. There was no one left to save, and the fire was too far gone. Whatever life was here died years ago. Someone unhinged enough to do this to themselves wouldn’t hesitate to drag me down with them if I tried to interfere with their death wish, in case he was still alive.
I got the hell out of there. I told my partner that it was over, and we left.
I later found out the man, probably in his 50’s, had started a fire two years ago. He lit a cigarette and didn’t put it out all the way, passed out, and a lady on the street saw the fire and pulled the alarm. That was October of 2019, while I was on a week-long trip in L.A. The fire department got there that time, fortunately.
If only I’d known that, I wouldn’t have been so afraid. I wouldn’t have so grossly misjudged the situation. There was still the presence of evil, but neglect and carelessness I can understand. I wouldn’t have been so scared of him. I could have saved him. He died not only because of his carelessness, but also because I failed to be a hero.
For weeks I kept asking myself, “Why didn’t I save him? Why didn’t I at least drag him out? Why did I let fear rule my life, again?”
Fear. It overtook me that night, like many other nights. Except this time, it cost a man his life.
I failed. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”