the 8-year-old

by Christiel Cottrell

she takes a can of gas from the garage and pours it on her bed. she likes the smell of gas. striking away from herself, she lights a match---away from herself, carefully, she's 8, she's learned things. a corner of the blanket catches as the match throws its heat. soon the bed is cloth and fire. the parents come into the room, mother first. her sister is lifted roughly form the crib. her father yells at her to run as heat and smoke push the family down the hall. in the dark outside they watch the house begin to breathe and glow. they see the girl is not with them. mother tightens her arms around the baby sister. father says, "I told her to run, she didn't run." in her room, where the walls crawl with smoke, already the girl is changing. heat and noise and the strange wavering air become her family. quietly she whispers to herself: no one can help me no one can help me