The Horan Twins (A Niall Horan fanfic/Zayn Malik love story)

Fighting With Hell

Hannah's POV

As I turn a page from my favorite book, Girl Meets Ghost, a strange scent wafts through the air. I put down my book.

"That's weird," I murmur. "This smells really familiar, but I only ever smell it when I'm near a fire."

I open the glass door and step out into the hot boiling sun to check out where the aroma is coming from and there, just two stories above me, there is smoke billowing out from an unclosed window.

Panic surges through me like an electric bolt of lightning. That can only mean one thing: It must be a fire!

I stare at the opened window for a bit longer, until the glass pane smashes, shards of glass raining down where I'm standing! I quickly swerve out of the way before it can shatter on my head.

I rush inside and slam the door, only managing to shatter the glass pane on the door and welcome the burning flames in! I can be clumsy at times when in a hurry.

I run straight for the bathroom and seize a tumbler of water, hurling it at the fire and managing to quench the flames, but there's still more soak out!

As I turn back to the sink to refill the tumbler, the handle refuses to behave, no matter how hard I yank it to the side, it just won't give in!

I throw the tumbler to the side, knowing now I wouldn't need it anymore, at least not without water.

"Damn it!" I yell at no one. "Where's a fire extinguisher when you need one?!" Apparently I know shouting wouldn't get me anywhere. And by now the half the floor is covered with fire!

I quickly scramble onto the kitchen counter like some crazy animal. Think, Hannah, think!

Spotting a nearby dining chair, I slowly stretch out my leg to reach it among the flames. Then I place my other foot onto the surface of the chair and hoist myself up on my tiptoes on the chair, struggling not to fall.

When I finally regain my balance, I jump onto the couch and onto the fire-less floor.

I run to the door as fast as my legs can carry me, but as my hand grasps the doorknob, I yelp and pull my hand back, pausing to look at my blistering uncontrolled shaking hand.

I shove my injured hand into the pocket of my jeans and race to an open window, trying to squeeze my way through, unluckily I get stuck partway out.

I bang and thrash wildly at it's glass pane until it finally shatters and I tumble back in.

I dust myself off before looking for another way out. I wince at the flames as they lick the ceiling.

Smoke drifts up my nose. I cough and quickly cover my nostrils the back of my arm. How come I always have bad luck when in a fire attack?

Observing the burning room, I spy the glass wall separating me from the dining room.

Grabbing a nearby flower vase, I dump the exotic flowers out of the vase and break the glass barrier with its hard surface.

I jump through the glass' frame and run among the tables and dining chairs, pushing a few out of my way.

I stagger to a nearby window and press my face against the glass to find a way out.

I noticed a box that says: Fire Extinguisher. My face brightens. But to my dismay, it's not in the box, with its glass barrier smashed and not where it's supposed to be before the fire started.

"Shoot," I mutter, pushing myself away from the window. "I bet that that has got something to do with you-know-who."

I notice that the fire's getting closer than ever! Feeling frantic, I throw a gas tank at the fire, hoping that it'll smoother the flames--wait a minute! A gas tank?! Aw jeez bad idea, Hannah!

You see, if you mix a gas tank along with fire, it creates an explosion. And it depends on how much gas tanks you throw it at. The more gas tanks, the bigger the explosion.

Before I even have the time to take cover, the mixture creates a small but still dangerous or even near-death explosion, causing me to fly backward and I swear, I can literally feel myself flying through the air.

I shriek in pain as I land on some broken glass, the fragments piercing through my skin, deeper than any cut that I've gotten throughout my 17 years of being alive! Maybe this was my destiny to land on broken glass and die through the pain.

I feel weak to stand, so I lie on the floor, in my very own pool of blood. The force of the small explosion's too strong for me to fight against. When did life get so hard?

Slowly--just slowly, I feel every bit of my strength fading away as I just lie there, staring up at the ceiling. I have about only 2% left that I would survive, which I would take as either unlikely or impossible. Might as well wait for my death.