It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s My Fault. IT’S MY FAULT. IT’S MY FAULT! That’s all i can think, all i can say, all i can scream into the ash filled air. Things were finally changing. Things were getting be better. But I couldn’t handle that apparently. Good wasn’t Great enough for me. I needed more. I ALWAYS need more. Tears choke my windpipe making it impossible. The air is thick with smoke and desperation. The Fire was getting out of control, tearing down buildings that i had lived my whole life in. Effortlessly destroying my entire reality. This is my fault. I look around at the damage, the corpses. I can’t do this. Why couldn’t i just be happy with what I had? That was a rhetorical question. I know why I look at my brother in the corner, he is not breathing but I can still hear his laughter. How is that possible? That was a rhetorical question as well. My mind is trying to make me process my grief, I refuse. First I have to fix this. This is my fault. I HAVE to make it right.