​Smoke

The bus peeled out back into the street behind me as I peered up the length of the shimmering glass exterior of the shiny new office building that I’d recently been transferred to. It was still an intimidating structure, far larger than the smalltown branch I’d grown so accustomed to over my six years with the company. It had taken weeks to get used to the place, but, finally, I was beginning to feel like everything was going to work out just fine. Two months into the new job, and things were looking up. I’d made plenty of friends who took the time to show me around the city and help me set myself up in a little apartment that wasn’t half-bad. My boss was nice enough, too – nicer than the crotchety old bag from back home, anyway – and the employee discount at the coffee shop in the lobby was a good bonus.

It was a hot, sticky morning that had snuck up fast and I yanked off my hoodie, stuffing it in my bag before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, watching the smoke linger across the busy traffic as I exhaled. There was still about an hour until I was expected inside, so I was in no rush. I could have taken the next bus and hit the snooze button, which I would have loved after the previous day’s overtime, but it would have thrown off my entire routine. Besides, it’s always good to be punctual, no matter where you’re going.

After stubbing out the butt on a trashcan by the front door, I scrolled around on my phone a little before I went in with around thirty minutes to kill in the lobby’s Starbucks. It was always bustling, and today was no exception. I half-imagined the place still being queued up at midnight when the building’s only occupants were the janitorial staff. Twenty minutes later, and I was finally about to be served. The guy in front of me seemed to be buying coffee for his entire floor. With under five minutes to spare, I decided to forego my usual apple danish morning ritual and just order a macchiato instead, smiling at the barista as she handed it over despite my frustratingly long wait.

I ran into Sarah in the elevator, who filled me in on some delicious gossip regarding a particular office romance which seemed to be in full bloom. We laughed, and I wished them all the best, pointing out how those kinds of relationships are almost never built to last. Too close, I concluded, as we stepped out into the hallway.

The morning came and went, and before I knew it, it was time for lunch already. My stomach rumbled as I thought about the danish which should have been mine. To compensate, I ordered a chicken caesar wrap with a side salad and found myself an empty table after a minute or so of searching. The food came, and I devoured every morsel on the plate. It was the last truly enjoyable meal I ever remember eating.

Back in the elevator after a quick smoke break outside under the sun’s shining apex, I tried to strike up a conversation with a janitor who I’d never met before, but he gave me some bad vibes so I just waited for my floor in silence instead of continuing to try and start up smalltalk. I could have swore that he smelled particularly strange, even for a janitor. But, at the time, I never took notice of it.

My cubicle was like my own little sanctuary, right up at the back by the window. Ever the country girl that I was, the city’s skyline never failed to inspire me. Between work, I would often pick away at my worldbuilding project, which previously had fallen stagnant. But, then, with that beautiful view right at my fingertips and that horrendous fluorescent buzz of the old place’s lights thankfully being a distant memory, it was flourishing again. I had just finished a quick round of edits when I decided that I needed another cup of coffee, so I stood and headed off to the breakroom.

Sarah was there, and she asked me how ‘work’ was going, with her typical sly wink. I told her that it was going well, and that she could expect to see a finished book by the end of the year. She smiled, and said that she was looking forward to reading it, and I could tell that she really meant it. We finished our lattes and had begun to make our way back to our respective cubicles when, suddenly, Sarah grabbed me by the arm. She asked if I could smell smoke.

An ear-piercing wail filled up the office floor, and I realized that I could in fact smell smoke. It was getting stronger. People were standing and beginning to file out down the hallway, but they didn’t get very far. An explosion of orange erupted inwards as somebody opened the door to the stairwell, sending them careening against the far wall engulfed in a ball of flames as they screamed. I couldn’t even tell if they were a man or a woman in the chaos. Sarah grabbed me again and began pulling me in the opposite direction from the blaze, which was spreading by the second as it tore through chairs and carpets and windowblinds and sofas and the ceiling which was now all but a roaring inferno. Everybody was yelling, and the smoke was so thick that I could hardly even see anymore. It stung my eyes as I coughed and choked for clean air as Sarah guided me through the increasing blackness until, finally, my vision became clear again. We were in a different stairwell, crammed in among at least thirty or more others as we all heaved our way downwards. I heard some commotion behind us. More yells, a scream, and then a whimper. Then, a series of dull crunches. Someone had fallen, and the people weren’t helping them. They were stepping right on top of them. Sarah told me not to turn around, and I didn’t. I started to cry instead. As we reached the ground floor, the bunched bodies became a scrambling horde as they separated into the open lobby, all rushing towards the front door. When I made it outside, I realized that Sarah wasn’t with me anymore. She was gone. I cried out for her, but my voice fell to nothing compared to all the others. I tried to go back inside. To get her. To make sure that she was alright. But firefighters had started to swarm into the building and they wouldn’t let me by them. Eventually, I just gave up. I curled up on the sidewalk as I balled, the sting everywhere within me while the swirling black monster crept into the sky, blocking out the sun.

That happened four years ago today, and it never got better. Sometimes, even though I’m back home, I open my curtains in the morning, and I see that skyline like I was still right there. Like I had just finished that last round of edits, and I was just going for that coffee. I think about Sarah a lot, too. I think about how, if it wasn’t for her, that it would have been me, and I can’t help but hate myself for it. Honestly, as the days and weeks and months drag by, I just can’t stop myself from feeling as though I should have been the one who died in the fire. Not her… Not Sarah…