Kindled Flames

There were yelling voices all throughout the house again. Aurora’s parents were running around the ground floor, screaming at each other at the top of their lungs. The echoes of their argument, the words barely recognizable, reached up through the floor in a dull timbre. There was a crash, like a glass falling to the ground — or being thrown across the room. For a second, the yelling stopped. No sooner had the house gone quiet, though, that it was once again filled with screaming. Aurora huddled herself under her covers, with her knees tucked into her chest. She was still wearing her jeans and t-shirt from earlier in the day, even though night had long ago fallen. She had her earbuds in and was trying to listen to music, but even the voices of her favorite pop stars were drowned out by the echoes of rage and fury circulating the home. Finally, Aurora ripped out the buds in her ears, just to see if maybe she could make out a few words here and there. “It’s your fault he’s like this!” “My fault!? You’re the one who never supported him!” “You coddled him! You let him—” Aurora’s hands tightened into fists. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes welled up with tears, but she didn’t have the heart to cry. Not anymore. It felt like they did this every night, now. Aurora would come home, they’d ask her about her day, and then she’d slink off to her bedroom to be alone. Then, either her mom would come in and say something, or her dad would come in and start yelling, and then within minutes, the whole house would be in an uproar. Aurora was tired of it all. She was just so tired. Was it really so much to ask for one night of peace and quiet? She didn’t ask for her life to be this way. She just wanted… She wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted. To be herself? To be free? To be away from this house of hate and malice. Aurora clutched the blanket tight and hugged herself beneath it. The yelling grew louder as the voices stormed up the stairs and screamed at each other. “YOU’RE GOING TO WAKE THE CHILDREN!” Aurora’s mother screamed in desperation, her voice cracking. “GOOD! LET THEM WAKE UP! IT’S NOT LIKE WE’RE QUIET ANYWAY!” her father screamed right back, accenting each word with a stomp up the stairs. Their voices grew louder as they drew closer to her bedroom door. Maybe tonight, her dad would finally throw it open and put her out of their misery? Maybe if Aurora was gone, they could finally go on with their lives? The door didn’t open. The voices paused where they were, as silent as the grave, but the tension between them was as tight as a guitar string. One wrong pluck, and it would snap. A creak from across the hall permeated the paper-thin walls. “Mommy?” came a small, scared voice. Aurora held her breath, waiting to hear what would transpire. There was a soft shuffling of feet across the carpet, a creak from the squeaky spot on the floor, and the light sob of a child. For a moment, neither of Aurora’s parents spoke. Aurora could imagine them staring in silence at the third person to join their conversation. “It’s okay, honey,” came her mom’s voice after an uncomfortable moment. “Everything’s fine. Just go back to bed.” There were a few more sobs, and then the door creaked shut. Aurora held her breath, waiting for the shouting match to renew in full force. She could still feel that horrible tension in the air. There was the sound of footsteps shuffling across the carpet again as her parents made their way to the end of the hall. The door to their room creaked as it opened and clicked as it shut again. Aurora held her breath for a few minutes, just to be sure things were calming down. She could hear the whispers of a conversation from her parents' room, but the voices were quiet and difficult to make out. Thinking she was finally free to act, Aurora tossed off the covers and flicked on her bedside lamp. The white walls of her room were plastered with posters from bands and films. Right above her bed were the familiar faces of a K-pop group she’d fallen in love with earlier in the year. Five impossibly handsome young men smiled down at her as though to assure her that everything would be all right. The boy in the middle, his eyes alight with wonder and mystery, held his hand out to her. She used to think of him as offering her the escape she so desperately craved. Aurora reached out and rested her hand against the paper, hoping against hope she could fall through the poster and into a different world. She was unsurprised when she didn’t. She clenched her jaw and tore the poster down without hesitation. She grabbed another — from her favorite movie — and ripped it down too. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she didn’t dare. Her parents were right next door. There was only so much noise she could make before they noticed her. If they caught her, then things would get so much worse... I can’t keep doing this anymore, Aurora thought to herself, collapsing onto her bed and burying her face in the warm comforter. Every night they fight. There’s no getting away from it anymore! Get away… The words stuck in her mind and sent a shiver down her spine. She’d never thought to try it before, but the more she thought about it, the more it sounded like a good idea. She was fourteen. She could probably make it on her own, right? Maybe she could find a shelter for abused kids or something? Would they even take her, though? Aurora fumbled with her nightstand for her phone and flicked it on. She did a quick search for nearby shelters for kids, and her results came up with a few possible answers. None of them were within walking distance, but she figured maybe she could make it to a bus station and ride it out there on her own? Determination setting in, Aurora did a quick search for bus routes. She found one that stopped within a block of the shelter. It would be over an hour-long bus ride, and then she’d have to walk the rest of the way, but it was better than not getting close to her destination at all. Aurora bit her lip. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to run away? Every child dreamt of running away from home at one point in their lives but most never made it very far. Was this really a risk she was willing to take, just to get away from her parents? Do I have any other choice? Is there really anything here that makes sticking around worthwhile? She ran over the list of reasons to stay in her head. She still loved her mom, but she despised her dad. She was doing okay in school and had a few friends, but there were just as many other kids that picked on her for the dumbest things. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that both sides of the list were surprisingly short. The only conclusion she could come up with was that, no, there was nothing really here for her. She wasn’t happy or safe or comfortable. She just existed in a state of sadness. Maybe she could chalk it up to being a teenager. Then again, maybe she couldn’t. Aurora shoved herself off the bed again and wiped her eyes. At some point, she’d started crying. Her cheeks were moist, and her eyes were leaking. She took a few deep breaths and wiped her face on her sleeve, scraping her already raw eyelids on the rough fabric of her top. Composure mostly restored, Aurora grabbed her black book bag off the desk opposite her bed. She unzipped it and upturned it over the bed, dumping out fat textbooks and a rattling pencil case. A few papers fluttered loose and tumbled to the floor, and she left them where they lay. Then, she set to work. She stuffed two changes of clothes in the bag, the most she could fit without the pack growing round and cumbersome. She dug through her sock drawer and found her stash of emergency cash. It wasn’t a lot, just a bundle of bills from four years of birthdays and Christmases that she’d been saving for just such a day. She quickly counted it out, a whopping 245 dollars, and stuffed it into one of the smaller pockets on the bag. Her wallet and bank card went in after them. She didn't have a lot, but it should be enough to get out of there. As quietly as she could, Aurora slipped out of her bedroom and padded softly through the hall, avoiding the creaky spots in the carpet that she’d long since memorized. As quietly as she could muster, she turned the knob on the bathroom door and slowly pushed it open. She could still hear the whispers from her parents’ bedroom, but they were growing quieter by the minute. Either they were settling down for bed and had given up on fighting, or they’d come to some kind of agreement. Probably the former, knowing them. It didn’t matter, Aurora was just grabbing some toiletries, and then she was gone. She quickly unzipped a pouch on her backpack and stuffed in some toiletries. Just because she was running away wasn’t an excuse for poor hygiene. Satisfied that she had everything she needed, Aurora zipped the bag and slung it over her shoulder. The weight felt reassuring, like a promise that everything would get better soon. She was ready. She’d get out of there, catch a bus into the city, and never see these monsters ever again. As she turned around to shuffle out of the bathroom, though, she came face to face with a small, sad boy. David was only eight years old. His eyes were red and puffy, his chubby cheeks were wet with tears. He was clutching a stuffed dragon in his hands and was squeezing it tight. He looked up to Aurora with worried eyes and spoke in a hushed tone. “Are you leaving?” He asked, practically wringing the plush dragon’s throat. Aurora looked at the bag on her shoulder from the corner of her eye, then down at her little brother. “Yeah,” she admitted, resting a hand on his shoulder. Gently, she guided him back to his bedroom. She stepped over a pile of Lego blocks and shut the door behind them, just enough to drown the room in darkness again, but not all the way. She still had to leave, after all. David didn’t ask why Aurora wanted to leave. As small and young as he was, he was also bright. It didn’t take a genius to understand what their parents were fighting about. “Will you come back someday?” He asked, hugging his stuffed toy. Aurora sighed. “I don’t know, bud,” she said, crouching low to be closer to his eye level. “Mom and dad, they’re not happy, you know? And I’m not happy either.” “I’m not happy either,” David mumbled, burying his face in the plush dragon’s side. “I know, bud,” Aurora whispered. “If they’re happy, will you come back?” Aurora paused to think about the question. What would it take, really, for her to reconsider staying with her parents? “I don’t know,” she finally admitted, shaking her head. “It’s complicated, bud. Maybe when you’re older, you’ll understand?” “Can I come with you?” David asked, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his pajamas, and sniffling loudly. Aurora’s heart broke for her little brother. He was just a kid. He didn’t deserve to go through the hell that she was leaving in her wake. For a moment, she strongly considered taking him with her. What would her parents say — what would they do — if both of their children disappeared in the middle of the night? Knowing them? Probably call me a kidnapper and blame me for everything, Aurora thought to herself. She met her little brother’s eyes, and he sniffled loudly again. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. David made a snorting sound but didn’t argue. “C’mere, you little goober.” David made a noise that was halfway between a giggle and a sniffle as Aurora pulled him into her arms and squeezed him tight. She wanted to stick around, just for him. Her little brother needed her, and she wanted to be there for him. It didn’t help that she wasn’t confident in her parents’ ability to care for him. But that was all the more reason for her to go. If her parents couldn’t take care of one kid, what made them think they could take care of two? No, she had to go, and maybe her departure would open the door for good things to come into David’s life. Aurora was about to pull away when suddenly, a crash of thunder ripped through the house. David whimpered loudly at the sudden noise and squeezed her tighter. There was a split second where Aurora wondered what it was, then a sudden jolt of pain surged out of David and into her. Aurora gasped and pulled away from the hug, her arms and fingertips burning with the strange sensations. David looked up at her with hurt in his eyes. She looked back, ashamed. She said nothing as she turned on her heel, adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and tugged the door open again. She hadn’t made it more than a handful of steps before she was overcome by a sudden dizzy sensation. Her head ached, and she felt like she was going to throw up. She couldn’t stop now, though! She had to keep going! It’s nerves! I’m just nervous!