Down In Flames ✢

✢ ONE.

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⟨ ELIS ⟩

MY FATHER always told me that there are two types of people in life — those who choke on the smoke of a fire and others who boldly fan the flames. As much as I wanted to believe that I was apart of the latter set, I seemed to have a severe case of symbolic pyrophobia that prevented me from getting too close to mere candles, let alone an ablaze inferno that spit embers farther than the range of my comfort zone.

However, Florida proved to be either careless or blind to that fear.

For the past week, I had been standing in the center of a ring of fire and was on the brink of passing out from the mere sensation of volatile change heating my skin. The number of transformations unfolding in such a short period of time took a toll on my body and left me feeling burned out, like a pile of discarded ash that would crumble into the finest form of powder from the slightest touch.

Despite how sweltering hot and overcrowded Florida turned out to be, the physical move to Miami wasn't too bad. The movers handled all the boxes and suitcases, but I was the one who had to manage the baggage of my father's passing that weighed twice as much as the heaviest package of clothing.

Although the loss was sudden, it hadn't come unexpectedly, which meant that all the preparation needed for the funeral had already been planned out and executed without any issues.

What instead demanded my attention was the hybridized focus that combined both my father's death and the foreign city of Miami, which was the unresting desire that his only child succeed in his footsteps as a graduate of the intimidatingly esteemed Ponce de León University.   

As much as I would rather have stayed in Connecticut and attended a small community college while living in a dorm, the overwhelming obligation to contribute the least I could to make his dream come true weighed me down like a ton of bricks. That same overwhelming obligation was what put me in my current situation, standing at the bottom of the stairs and listening intently as my cousin's tone shifted from desperation to annoyance, simultaneously making me wonder if my father's dream was even worth living out.

Although I couldn't see Layla's face, the infamous image of her bottom lip protruding while her eyes veiled an overcast of pity chiseled itself into my mind. It was her signature look and I had no doubt that she was weaponizing it at this very moment.

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish my question."

"You're not going unless you bring Elis." The sound of my uncle's fork scraping against his plate served as background noise to his reply. "I told you that earlier."

"And I told you that bringing her would be weird. I hardly know her." Layla whined, a subtle hint of irritation sneaking back into her words.

"She's your cousin." A new voice joined in, catching me off guard. My aunt was apparently in the kitchen with them.

"She's a cousin that I had no idea existed until last week. You guys really don't expect us to become best friends just because we're suddenly living under the same roof, do you?"