The Nerve

This was a story I wrote four years ago on a small notepad with a stubby pencil. It was written as a result of sheer boredom. I do think my writing has improved since I wrote this. Reading it, I realize how drastically a persons writing style can change over time. Please enjoy.

Dillon watched his feet touch down on every step as he began to drag himself up the seven flights of stairs.

His eyes threatened to close by the time he was on the third flight; he could usually make it to the sixth before that began to happen.

His pace began to slow. He shook his head. He had been spending too much time at the office. He had to do though, they were downsizing again. If he wanted to keep his job he would have to continue putting extra hours in.

His back ached when he finally made it to the eighth floor, laughing silently to himself at all the poor souls who had to make the extra climb to the tenth. Yawning, he made his way down the hall, his apartment being at the very end.

If he ate a quick dinner and then went right to bed, he could have five hours of sleep before he would have to get up and go back to work.

Dillon had become vocally frustrated with his keys when the apartment door across from his door opened. The man in the doorway said, "Oh, it's just you Dillon. I was wondering what the racket was."

"Yeah, it was just me, Jim. I was just having a little trouble with my keys." Dillon replied, managing to slap on a grin.

A young girl, who couldn't have been older than three, appeared and wrapped her arms around Jim's legs. He looked down and smiled, "Oh, Sara, you shouldn't be up. It's way past your bedtime." Jim bent down, lifted her, and kissed her check as she giggled. "Now, say goodnight to Mr. Wilhelm."

"Goodnight, Mr. Wilhelm."

"Goodnight, Dillon."

Dillon mumbled, "Goodnight, Jim, Sara," lazily waving them off, as he went back to his keys.

"And I am sorry, Dillon." Jim said softly.

Dillon stopped and stared at his door. He nodded slowly, turned the key and stepped into his apartment.

So, now he's apologizing for it! Dillon thought as he threw his keys across the kitchen. He began to make dinner for himself.

First he takes my job and now he has the nerve to be sorry about it!" He slammed his frying pan onto the stove. "Why would they give the job to Jim instead of me, anyway? He's only thirty for pity's sake. I have a full three years on him. It should be about experience, not qualifications.

He cracked his egg into the pan, not caring that a large piece of shell landed in the middle of it. And I have a mouth to feed too, my own!

Dillon glanced at the clock, one o'clock AM. He should have been asleep twenty minutes ago. Dillon stormed out of the kitchen, completely forgetting about his egg.

Darkness and heat. Dillon had been having frequent dreams about those two ideas. That night was no exception. He could see nothing and the heat would engulf him.

The dream was a little different that night though. He could hear screaming and part way through it he could smell smoke. The scent became stronger and stronger. Screaming and smoke had never been part of his dream before.

In his panic he awoke. When he opened his eyes he still smelt the smoke, but it was nothing like his dream. Dillon could see the flames forming around him.

Dillon looked around, confused as to what to do. The corner of his bed had ignited. The fire had surrounded his bed, the band of flames was narrow on the left side, and he would have to jump over it to make it to the door.

He stood up too quickly, almost slipping onto the flames. The fire inched closer to his bare feet. He closed his eyes and jumped. The hem of his pants lit up, but his landing put it out.

Dillon sprinted out the bedroom door; most of it was now on fire. He quickly glanced back at his kitchen to find it unrecognizable through all the flames. He turned to see his front door that now resembled the sun.

Dillon made his way around the flames into his living room. He planned to go out the small window that was above his sofa. What he would do after he climbed through it, he didn't know.

The living room was in as worse a state as the others. His favorite chair was now a pile of ashes in the corner. He looked to the window. There was no way to get to it unless he stood on the sofa, which was now in bright flames.

Dillon's eyes frantically searched the room for any hint of another way out of his apartment. Then he saw it, the wall adjacent to the hall had burned. There was a hole large enough that he could just make it through. Dillon decided to take his chance.

Once on the other side he screamed. His right hand had gone through the flame. Trying to forget about the pain Dillon began to make his way down the hall. Much to his dismay it was in worse condition than his apartment.

Nursing his hand, Dillon tried to avoid the fire as best he could. It seemed that everyone else had already gotten out. All the doors were open, most aflame, some on the floor. The other end of the hall seemed to be less violent than his end.

He watched the ground in front of him, trying not to be fixated on the flames that tauntingly walked beside him. That was until the rafters above him began to fall.

Just outside of apartment 8E a rafter nearly landed on Dillon's head. As he dodged the beam something in the room beside him exploded. A burst of flames propelled into the hallway inches from Dillon's face.

Heart pounding Dillon continued his journey to the stairwell. Ten yards form the stairs, Dillon heard a scream. A very familiar scream. The scream from his dream.

It wasn't a normal scream, it sounded like a mixture of the words "help" and "daddy". Dillon turned and squinted through the gray haze. At first he didn't see anything, but he could still hear the scream.

Then he spotted something moving, it was very small. It was in front of his apartment, clear at the other end of the hall. It must have been Sara.

Dillon took one last look at the stairwell and another down the burning hallway at the moaning little girl.

Running down the stairs Dillon tried to drown out Sara's distant wails with his thoughts, Jim will get her. Jim will get her.

Even though Dillon was holding a blanket tightly around his shoulders, he was cold. He was probably the only person who could be so cold in front of a building that lit up an entire block.

He stared at the front door. Waiting. Even when a fireman was asking him questions, Dillon couldn't pry his eyes away from the door. He stared.

"Dillon!" a voice screeched. It was the only voice that could steal Dillon's attention, but it was coming from the wrong direction.

Dillon turned to see Jim running towards him, out of the darkness clutching a carton of milk. He had tears in his eyes.

"Dillon! Have you seen Sara? Did she get out alright? I went to buy her milk. She wanted milk. Have you seen her? Sara!"

Dillon wasn't paying attention. His eyes were drawn back to the building, this time not to the door, but to the eighth floor. He stared, mouth agape, as the top three stories collapsed.

The face staring out of the window was forever imprinted in his mind.