2

They said it happened at 9:37 p.m.
The official story was simple: a short circuit in the science lab, a spark, a fire that spread too quickly.
But the thing about simple stories is that they rarely tell the whole truth.

One student didn’t make it out in time.
Her name was Emily Carter, and even now, months later, people still leave flowers by her locker — faded petals pressed against cold metal.
No one dares to open it. Not even the janitor.

I remember the smell of smoke, the flashing red lights, the way everyone was screaming but I couldn’t hear anything.
They said I was in shock.

Maybe I still am.

Sometimes, late at night, I dream I’m back there — standing in that same hallway, watching the flames crawl across the ceiling.
And somewhere behind the noise and the chaos… I hear a voice.
A whisper.
Calling my name.