Broken

Flames.

That's all I can remember.

They were everywhere, lapping all around me, burning everything I'd ever grown to know and love, yet I couldn't stop them. After all, I was young back then.

''A giraffe, small and weak, opened his eyes. He saw fire all around him, burning away the walls and the ground. He got up, staggering a bit, and limped through the rubble. He was terrified, but he continued on. He watched, searching for his family. He didn't see them. He felt doubt, then pushed it back with more hopeful thoughts, ignoring the harsh pain of reality clouding his mind. His legs felt weak. He wanted to lie down so the pain would stop, but he kept walking. Sharp jolts passed through his feet, traveling up his leg and covering his shoulder. He winced, but shook himself and continued on. He still couldn't see his family. Tears rolled down his face, not only because of the pain, but because of his sorrow too. He knew there was no hope. Why did he keep on going? Then he saw a faint shadow. A long, lean figure lying on the ground. His mother. Filled with joy and worry at the same time, he bounded toward her, ignoring his injured leg. He called out, once, twice. Then a long beam of burning wood fell, right as the giraffe ran under it. As it hit him with full force, his legs crumpled from beneath him, and he fell to the ground. He asked himself.''

Will I get up again?