Four perspectives. One story. One room. One burning fire. 

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A six-year-old girl

Dark as it was, the ambiance of the room was pleasant. The fire's pretty, Lola thought. Even from afar, the small red crackle was just as important, its wrapping flames dancing back and forth against the wood. As a six-year-old, Lola was still by herself. Like always. Seeing only the small brick house painted red, the flames licking the wall, the snake slithering in and out the cracks and nobs, that was everything that gave her peace. She stared at her hands, the creases, raw, real, and burning. Don't be scared of fire Lottie. It is harmless. Harmless, father had taught. Now, all she could remember was standing outside of the house, her feet caked with dirt, her hands oily and scalped red. It was satisfaction that she felt, shutting the door and racing out, 'accidentally' dropping the match. Mother used to teach me how to light a match. She said it would be useful. As her hands toyed with the matchbox, all she could hear now was a gravelly whistle, and the shuffling of the matches, as they were thrown back and forth. It's calming, she whispered to herself. Because in reality, nobody knew. Nobody knew about the little girl who sat in the corner of the room, big eyes blinking slowly, calm and scalding. Like fire.

A grandma

The soft orange pelts dropped upon the flame, and although starting from small, grew taller and taller, wavering slightly. Small but steady, the fire burnt stronger, melting into a mesh of mahogany shade. That was all the grandma stared at, as she leaned against the cold walls. Big, small. Big, small. The flame constantly trembled. "It'll die out soon", Desiree said out loud. The other three people in the room could hear the grandma speaking again but left her be. "Just like me", she muttered afterward. The woman's eyes constantly drooped, her lids wavering as they blinked in a way that people would say 'prehistoric'. Maybe it was the light, but on this exact day, a living corpse. A burnt-out flame. Struggling, and crawling its way through the wood, trying to find something, anything that worked. Exactly like the silhouette she had saw racing out of the burning house. Who was that? What were they doing? Unable to do much, she slid into the wall, her back aching from the awkward space. All she felt was her soul being sucked away from her, the demon's bony hands taking her away.

A nurse

Three people. A child, a young man, and a grandma. A square room, with four walls, each person leaning into the corner of the wall. Seeing everything, and nothing at the same time, Lorelei was concerned. Extremely concerned. She was tired, her bones aching from all the work at the hospital. And yet she was here. What was she doing? Why was she here? She had no idea. All she knew was that this was a dangerous scene. A scene that never should have occurred. Because in her mind, all she could see were four distinct elements. The constant movement of the fire, the small matchbox that the young girl gripped in her hand, the glint of silver slit next to the grandma, and the barrel of a pistol poking out from the man's pocket. What was that? Why did they all seem to have things they shouldn't? And the red. The radiating red from the fire bleached the whole scene. Why was all that she could see blood? Rigid, harsh streaks of red, were painted across everybody's clothes and encased upon the walls. Bold, dark secrets waiting to be opened. What fiery pit had she entered? She felt ludicrous, as she gripped tighter under her thigh, the sheath of a small dagger waiting.

A murderer fleeing the police

Comfortably sprawled on the floor, the raspy whistles of the murderer echoed. It was silent. Too silent. Not even the fire was as loud, the crackling flames raging. Mateo was in thought. No matter how calm he looked on the outside, his heart was constantly rubbing against his ribcage, the pulse quickening as time ticked by. It wasn't me. I was just there. I didn't kill him. I swear. Flashes of the burning house were the only thing etched in my mind, the flashing lights of the police car traumatizing him forever.

"Stay away. Stay away and put your hands behind your head."

"But it wasn't me! It wasn't me!" Mateo screamed as he stepped closer to the policeman.

"One more step, and I will taser you. I repea-"

"It wasn't me!" Mateo yelled over and over again, the words scraping against his throat.

And that was it. That was all Mateo could envision. Replayed over and over in his head. And all he could now feel was the throbbing that burned through his legs, the yelling and pursuit as he rushed away, sprinting, the air slapping his face as he ran into the first open door he could see. And now, he was here. In this house. With the most random people in the world. Whatever this place was.