"Okay" by Kayla McCall

In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I focus on my breathing, willing the tears that are crowding my eyes to stop. I clench my hands as tight as I can until my nails are digging into my palms and my knuckles turn white. I go through my usual mantra, “I’m okay.” I say it over and over again until I believe it.
I clench my eyes shut, but it’s futile. Fire burns brighter in the dark.
They’re gone and I’m here. My whole family is gone.
 My house erupted into flames. Smoke billowed through the windows and all I could see was the bright yellow, red color of the flames.
Pure luck is to blame for me not being there. Instead I watched my entire home burn with my entire family inside and my entire life crumbled.
I suck in a deep breath.
In.
Out.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
I imagine their faces, my mother with the lines branded in her face from years of laughing and her kind eyes; my father, whose face was worn with age and wisdom; my sister who hadn’t even reached the age of ten.
“I’m okay.”  I mutter the lie again.
A tear escapes my eye that I quickly wipe away. They wouldn’t want me to cry.  I try my best to pull myself together and push away the evil thoughts gnawing at the back of my skull.
In.
Out.
“I’m okay.”

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