Animal Crossing Tales: When It's Time

A Wave, a Splash, a Ripple

And now... after all this time... I realize.

The world is ablaze in fiery scarlet. Part of her wishes her home were in shambles, unrecognizable in the rubble of fallen wooden beams and snapping, creaking floorboards. But the truth is worse. She sees the rug she used to sit on at the age of four, crossed legged before her father. He played guitar. The rug is now charred, any hint of its gentle blues and pinks destroyed; her father's favorite arm chair is consumed in tall, hungry flames.

The dinner table, which would sit eight with the littlest kids on the others' laps, is alive with roaring fire instead of giggles and chatter. The kitchen is inaccesible through the burning doorway. She sees herself at the age of ten running in to help Mom with cookies. The little girl dissipates in the blaze.

The family pictures on the walls are screaming. The polaroids curl in on themselves and the eyes and smiles disappear.

Behind her, she hears the startling crunch of the porch collapsing on itself, blocking the front door and her only exit. The heat is overwhelming. Survival instincts kick in, and the girl begins to run.

She clambers up the stairs and the fire chases her, wood shrieking and snapping in protest of her frantic steps. Before she reaches the top, her left foot bursts through the weakened boards and disappears beneath her. Sharp, stinging pain shoots through her body and she cries out. Whipping around, she's met with the wall of fire: vibrant red accentuated with ever-growing clouds of black smoke. 

She yanks herself free from the splintered wood in two forceful pulls, leaving her pants ripped and leg bloody. She pushes herself back on her feet and runs faster, long orange curls catching fire in the process.

There's only one room that has yet to be filled with flames— it's the playroom, the one furthest from the beach and the trees. The one that faces the city where she met Kaito. When she makes it to the middle of the dark room, she swats at her hair and puts out the little fire. It's pointless. It's all burned already. Her glasses are pointless too, scratched and covered in soot. What is there to see anymore? The pink handprint she splatted on the wall when her parents painted the room? The cushions that the kids used to throw at each other strewn about the floor? The worn-out books on the handmade shelves that her mom would read to them, night after night? The girl rips her glasses off of her face and throws them to the floor. They shatter.

The blurry waves of brilliant ruby and orange enter the room and quickly overtake the walls, the rocking chair, the shelves; her childhood goes up in flames before her and she slowly backs away, only stopping when she meets the sliding glass door. It's scalding hot. With a pained hiss, she tears her burned hands off the glass and pulls it open, running out to the tiny balcony.

It's a summer night. It's her favorite season. It's hot beach days, tans and burns, barbecued food and fruity melting popsicles. It's all thick smoke and hellfire now. It's the distant sirens of a fire truck.

The deep blue sky and twinkling stars are beautiful from the fourth floor. The heavens don't know the fear wracking through her body tonight. They don't know the way the grief fills her chest with leaden burdens. Everything aches. The girl faces the approaching fire and presses her lower back to the flimsy wooden railing that separates her from the boundless air. She's sweating profusely and her strong grip on the wood is slick. Forceful coughs escape her, and when she gasps for fresh breaths she's only met with more soot and carbon dioxide.

She wails, just once: a long, echoing cry of sorrow, guilt, and agony. Her hiccuping sobs follow. The fire is trailing along the balcony's threshold and her skin threatens to melt. Her crying subsides, and she stands up straight, face affixed with sternness. Her gaze shifts up to the stars; they sparkle so calmly, even when half-obscured by heatwaves and chaos.

She shuts her eyes tight and takes in a deep, shaking breath of dark smoke and burning wood. The tears stream down her face relentlessly. More and more and more as if she hadn't cried enough at the mailbox, at the hospital, at the place where the grass meets the sand.

I'm sorry, Mom. She hears the knocking on her bedroom door and her mom's gentle voice pleading. Why hadn't she answered?

The balcony wood crackles. The sound is drowned out by the roaring flames.

I'm sorry, Dad. His favorite melody echoes on untouched guitar strings. He smiles one last time and promises he'll come back. It sounds like the both of them love making promises they can't keep.

The banister behind her snaps and jerks her backwards, but it does not rupture completely, yet.

I'm sorry, Kaito. His little hands offer her a brilliant red cosmo. She sobs one final time. Her grip on the old wood tightens.

The railing breaks and, with thunderous cracks, the entire balcony collapses. Splinters in all the faded colors she had painted them fly off in every direction.

The girl doesn't scream when she falls.

✿ ✿ ✿

Original Version: 9/29/18
Revised Version: 03/25/2024