Story I made last year! (Credits to: littlesam ,for forum idea🫀)

**The Mother in Fire** It was a nice summer evening when my mother, my brother, and I went camping. My mother had built and lit the fire. My brother, who was fourteen at the time, gathered wood while I, an energetic eight-year-old, played and ran around. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going when I accidentally ran into my mother. The impact knocked her off balance, and before I could react, she stumbled and fell into the flames. She screamed in pain, and panic surged through me. I dashed to grab a bucket of water, desperate to extinguish the fire, but it was too heavy for me to lift. My brother ran back, alarmed by the commotion, and he searched frantically for our mother. Hours passed, and as the darkness swallowed our hope, we called the cops. When the authorities arrived, they assessed the situation and quickly placed blame on my brother. Despite my pleas and attempts to confess, they refused to believe me. My brother was arrested and sentenced to life in prison for a crime he did not commit. For the past six years, I have been trying to free him. --- My name is Lauren. I am fourteen years old now, but when I was eight, I accidentally killed my mother by knocking her into the fire. My brother took the blame, and no one would listen when I tried to tell the truth. The only person who knows what really happened is me. Every year, on July 19th, I visit my brother. That was the day my mother died—the day of the Mother in Fire. --- I woke up in a cold sweat. Today was July 19th. The anniversary. The day I visit my brother. I got out of bed and dressed for the occasion. I pulled on a hoodie, the color of soot, and a pair of jeans littered with burn holes from careless cigarette embers. I ran a brush through my hair, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the morning light. My destination was the county jail. As I walked, the memories clawed at me. The heat of the flames. My mother’s scream. My brother’s bewildered face as they took him away. The weight of my secret grew heavier with each step, pressing on my chest like an anvil. Would today be different? Would they finally listen? Or was I doomed to carry this guilt forever? I didn’t know. But I had to try. --- The night before, I had been haunted by a nightmare so vivid, it still clung to my mind. In the dream, I was back at the campsite, but the fire was alive. It twisted and writhed, forming long, skeletal fingers that reached for me. The crackling of the flames turned into a chorus of whispers, my mother’s voice calling my name in agony. "Lauren… why did you let me burn?" I tried to scream, but my voice was swallowed by the inferno. My mother emerged from the flames, her skin charred and peeling, her eyes hollow and glowing like embers. She reached for me, her blackened fingers brushing my cheek, leaving streaks of ash. "Help me…" she rasped, her voice broken and raw. "You can’t run from this." I turned to flee, but my legs wouldn’t move. The fire wrapped around me, scorching my skin. I looked down and saw my hands were blackened, smoldering, melting like wax. My own screams mixed with hers as the fire consumed me. I jolted awake, gasping for breath, my sheets damp with sweat. The scent of burning flesh still lingered in my nose, though I knew it was only in my mind. Even in sleep, I could not escape what I had done. --- When I arrived at the jail, I checked in with the guard. "Visiting hours are almost over," he grumbled. "I know. I just need a few minutes," I replied, my voice shaking. As I was led to the visitation room, my brother, Ethan, was already waiting. He looked older, tired. When he saw me, his face softened. "Lauren," he said. "You came." I sat down across from him. "Of course I did. I always do." He sighed, leaning forward. "You have to stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault." "But it was!" I whispered fiercely. "I knocked her into the fire, Ethan. And you're paying for it!" Ethan shook his head. "No one would have believed you. I knew that. That’s why I didn't fight harder. I didn’t want them to take you away too." Tears burned in my eyes. "I don’t deserve to be free while you rot in here." He reached for my hand through the gap between the glass. "You do. And you have to keep living. Find a way to be happy." I wiped my eyes, nodding. "I'll keep trying, but I won't stop until I get you out." --- Another year passed, and July 19th arrived once more. This time, I wasn’t coming empty-handed. I clutched a folder filled with new evidence. It had taken me months—pouring over old police reports, finding inconsistencies in the case, tracking down witnesses who had been ignored. I had something real this time. Something they couldn’t ignore. As I entered the visitation room, Ethan looked up at me. His tired expression shifted as he saw the determination in my eyes. "I have something," I said, setting the folder down. "This time, they have to listen." Ethan hesitated, then picked up the papers, scanning them. Hope flickered in his eyes for the first time in years. "Maybe," he murmured. "Maybe this time, it will be different." I clenched my fists. "No. This time, I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." CHAPTER 2: the break out. (Ethan’s point of view) It was supposed to be a peaceful night. The fire my mother built crackled softly, casting warm shadows around our campsite. I had gone off to gather wood, leaving my little sister, Lauren, playing nearby. I wasn’t gone long—just a few minutes—but when I returned, everything had changed. The screams hit me first. My mother’s voice, raw with agony. I dropped the wood and ran, heart pounding. The sight before me sent ice through my veins—my mother, engulfed in flames, thrashing, reaching. Lauren stood frozen, her face pale with terror. I didn’t think. I just moved. Grabbing the closest blanket, I tried to smother the flames, but it was too late. The fire had already taken her. By the time the authorities arrived, the only thing left was devastation. Then, the nightmare worsened. The police looked at me, not with pity, but with suspicion. I heard their hushed whispers, saw the way their eyes narrowed. They needed someone to blame. And they chose me. Lauren tried to speak up, her voice shaking, but they dismissed her. I remember the look in her eyes when they took me away—guilt, fear, helplessness. For six years, I have lived behind bars, carrying a burden that isn’t mine. Every day, I wake up in the same cold, gray cell, the walls pressing in like a coffin. The other inmates whisper about me, some with sympathy, some with scorn. I hear their words: "The boy who killed his own mother." I don't bother defending myself anymore. What’s the point? The world has already made up its mind. But every July 19th, Lauren visits me. She sits across from me, her hands trembling, her eyes pleading. She tells me she's still trying, still searching for a way to set me free. I want to believe her, but hope is dangerous in here. It builds you up just to let you fall. Still, I can’t bring myself to tell her to stop. She carries enough guilt as it is. The worst part isn’t the prison walls, the iron bars, or the endless days bleeding into each other. It’s the nightmares. Every night, I relive that moment—the fire, the screams, the smell of burning flesh. But in my dreams, it’s always different. Sometimes, it’s Lauren in the flames, reaching for me, her face melting away as I stand frozen. Sometimes, it’s me, trapped in the inferno, screaming for help as the flames swallow me whole. And sometimes, it’s our mother, standing at the foot of my bed, her body charred and smoldering, whispering, "Why didn’t you save me?" I wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for air, but there’s no escape. The fire follows me, even here. Lauren thinks she can save me. Maybe she can. Maybe she can't. But until the day I walk free—or die in this place—I will keep telling her the same thing: "You have to keep living." Because even if the world got it wrong, I refuse to let it take her, too. --- Tonight is different. Tonight, I am done waiting. Lauren brought me something last time—a plan. A key detail in my case was overlooked, a backdoor no one thought to check. A few crooked guards, a blind spot in security, an old ventilation shaft. We whispered over the phone line, her eyes darting nervously to the guards. "You don’t belong here, Ethan," she said. "We’re running out of time." And now, after six years, I’m finally ready. The moment the guard does his rounds and disappears down the hall, I move. My heart pounds as I slip the stolen key into the lock. It clicks. I hold my breath. The door creaks open. Footsteps echo in the corridor. I freeze. My pulse hammers in my ears. I have seconds—maybe less. I pull the door open just enough to squeeze through. The air outside my cell smells different—freer. I creep down the hallway, my steps light, my hands shaking. Lauren is waiting outside. She has a car ready. We have one shot. One night. If we fail, I’ll never see the outside world again. If we succeed… maybe, just maybe, we can fix what was broken. I will not die in this place. I will not let the fire win. Tonight, I take my life back.