Audentis Fortuna Iuvat

It was worse than I remembered. It was a shell. Empty. Devoid. Taken.

Empty of all the happiness and the memories that I had left behind when I fled. Devoid of all the life that I used to treasure. Taken from me by the flames that had eaten away at the wood and at my father's body until all that were left were skeletons and ghosts.

My home was gone now. Even the memory, even the skeleton was gone. All that littered the ground at my feet was tree debris and the occasional rust-caked nail. I stumbled through the slight clearing with an image in my mind of how it should still be. There should still be steps leading into a narrow corridor. There should still be walls parting the trees. There should still be my father's rare and treasured laugh carrying on the breeze. There should still be life.

It shouldn't be like this.

"Is this enough evidence for you?" I asked Dakota who stood silent beside me. "Is this enough for you to see that there's nothing left?" He was silent. "I thought so."

I breathed in the air that didn't contain even the barest trace of soot and walked through the corridor that was still painted clear in my mind. I turned right. "This was the kitchen." I said, calling to mind the smell of his coffee in the morning." I turned left. "The living room." He used to like to listen to the radio at night. I turned right again and trod on a bone that gave with a crunch. "His room," I said, "This is where he died." I pulled out his old embroidered bookmark from my back pocket and ran my fingers over the quote. "It wasn't his fault." Dakota was at my shoulder but I didn't feel warm or comforted as I normally did. I felt as empty as the ruins I stood in.

"Why do you say that?" He asked.

I looked him in the eyes. "Because he wasn't the one meant to die in the fire, I was."

He frowned. "How could you possibly know-"

I turned over the bookmark to reveal the rest of the writing. "Because I caused it."

Notes