Mama warned me not to touch the matches. Mama warned me not to use the candles. Now our entire floor of the apartment is in flames. I am in the living room, sticking my head out our apartment window.
“You'll have to jump!” the fireman shouts with his bullhorn.
Jumping out of a window is out of the question. I have always had a fear of heights, after I fell down a five and a half foot cliff while hiking.
“Come on, kid! Jump!” he shouts again. A large, billowing mat laid at the bottom of the building. I have two choices. I could either relive the frightening moment of my fall, or burn to a crisp. I decide to jump.
As I am falling, the memory of me tumbling against the cliff's rough surface is all coming back to me. I can feel every teardrop and scratch on my delicate skin that I got that day. Those old wounds began to heal and those tears dried for good once I hit the mat. The firefighters give me a hand and escort me away from the burning building. I believe that my fear of heights are gone. Now, I have a bigger thing to be afraid of:telling the police and Mama what happened to the apartment.
