• When people say hell, you think of the fire and flame-inferno of the demon riddled depths of an unmentionable place people are sent when you refuse to agree to god. A place people are sent when their sins cannot be excused or forgiven. But I haven't yet to commit a sin. But here I find myself, laying in a blazing inferno. What I did to bring myself here was a cry. A cry of a child. What would this mean to a normal being? A child is unfed, or it means for attention. But no, for me, it meant the very life of this small body. A small body that alone cannot survive without the help of that adult figure. And now, I lay, this small body wrapped in a cradle. "What cradle?" You might ask, but there is one simple answer: Me. I cradle this child gently for I know around me is the ungentle hell of this unforgiving world. I have seen violence at it's ugliest, but now, I fear I may never see it again. People call me crazy for the job I do. And you will read this, the last memo of my memories knowing that I did what I did for a reason.
    I climbed four stories of the most unmentionable hell, worse than any you could ever think of. The heat, god, the heat was unbearable. But I did it for a cry. I could hear it every step I climbed. Why did I climb four stories of hell, twenty stairs up four flights for a cry? Because too many times have I ran into hell for the body of an infant to hear it's laughs one day only to learn by the time I reach it, nobody will ever hear it laugh again. But here I am, in the fourth story of a building, hell ablaze around me and a child before myself. I am left with a decision. In my climb, many obstacles made it's way before me and to clear them, I had one tool. I dropped that one tool and reached out for this child as I picked it up. I held the child to my ear, only to hear it's breathing through my mask which had kept me from unconsciousness in this hell.
    It was alive.
    I don't know what drove me, but I reached for a aluminum blanket they give us all for emergency purposes and wrapped this baby from head to toe. I tore my mask off, as I placed my mask against an opening in the blanket. This would serve as the baby's oxygen, not mine. I ran opposite to the room and kicked the door. Nothing would stop me on my way down. NOTHING! I ran down the fourth flight, flames licking my sweaty body. It had occurred to me then that my helmet had something on it causing it to ignite. I would assume it was a leaking fluid from somewhere or paint chips from the wall onto my helmet. All I knew, was I was to get out of this hell with this infant. On my way down the third flight, I missed a step. Foolish of me, to make a mistake this far in my mission alone. Searing pains soared through my leg and now whenever I laid weight on this leg, I could feel the segment of bone shift. It was broken. But I only had two more flights to go. The second flight had a hallways separation and was slightly larger than the rest. I recognized the corridor leading to it immediately. As I made my way down the first few steps, a god awful shudder, one that would be heard if a demon had awoken only to find you stealing it's precious treasure. The stair beneath my foot gave way, and I found myself falling. I had cargo, and I would do anything to protect it. It only took a second before I fell on my back, being careful to guard this precious cargo, making sure it wouldn't be harmed. I bounced off of the tank on my back as a searing pain shot through my back, then.
    I cursed under my breath. I had crippled myself, on my way down to the first story. I could still feel my arms, but my legs didn't respond to anything. I looked down at the aluminum wrap in my arms. I looked through the viewport of the mask as a child looked back up at me. It was crying. I smiled back at it, as I felt something bounce off of my helmet. I looked up. The ceiling was about ready to give way. I looked down at this child, as I held it close to me. Loud sobs escaped my throat as tears dripped onto the mask face and steamed off. Foolish me, it had to be a good two-hundred degrees in the surrounding atmosphere... Tears stung as they evaporated off my face and as steam rose from the mask. I heard it, the sound that would mark the last seconds before I perished. A screaming groan. I looked up, as I watched the wood in a large support beam splinter. When that beam broke, I would most likely be no more. I looked down at the child, as I pulled it close to me. I used my free arm to position myself above it equally, so that I wouldn't smash it. I hugged it close, the only thing visible now being the dark and the illuminated mask lights. I could see the child looking at me, it's eye's almost asking me, "Am I going to make it?" I smiled, a soft and gentle smile, as I whispered; "Remember me."

    He reached for the box in his attic. It was labeled "1986". "Hey dad, what's in this box?" He asked, as he pulled out his knife and cut the tape on it. "Those were newspapers and a few memories from that time." He opened the box, as he reached in. A newspaper was on top. He read it's headline. "Deadly Fire in Four Story Building takes lives of 4 men, 1 life saved." His dad stopped immediately, as he looked to his son. He read the names on the newspaper as he recognized the one in the saved list. His hand found it's way to his hair as he ran his fingers through it. He placed the paper down, as he looked inside the box. He pulled out a small silver blanket with golden-black spots on it. He placed it down, as he pulled out a large metal tank, obviously used to hold air. It was made of steel, and was covered in the same golden-black spots. The tank was attached to a mask. The box was not yet empty though. He reached inside, as he pulled out a helmet. It had a large hole in the back of it. It was covered in black streaks and the visor on it was melted halfway through. The piece of the helmet that allowed you to move the visor was melted solid. The name on the front top, scratched, but eligible, read "Michael Williams". Tears fell on the helmet, as the dad stood up and walked behind his son. "Would you like to go visit Michael William's resting place?" He asked, as his son nodded slowly. The son placed the helmet on the ground, as they both left the attic.