"Your sons are heroes,Mr. Jameson." The nurse led him to a clean white room. There were five children insides, two on chairs and three in beds. The young men in the beds did not move.
"Ma'am?" Mr. Jameson asked. "May I have some time alone with my sons and daughter?"
"Of course. Call if you need any assistance." The nurse paused on her way out, as if struggling to say one last thing, then left. The figures in the beds sat up as soon as she did. The young man in the middle bed spoke.
"Dorothy, be a lifesaver and peel the skin off my back, will you?" he asked. A girl, one of the two people who had been sitting on chairs, nodded. She walked towards the boy in the middle bad and moved the shoulder of his hospital gown to display a cracked and bloody back. She deftly peeled off some charred skin and tossed the refuse into a garbage bin. The young man shuddered. "You forget how gross it is. Now, hand me my glasses."
"Boys!" Mr. Jameson, on the verge of a shout, said. "Goddamn it boys, did you die in that fire?" No one spoke until the blonde haired young man from the rightmost bed sighed.
"Well, I did," he said. He was Christopher, the eldest of the Jameson children, followed by Nick and then the triplets, Henley, Dorothy, and Tucker.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Mr. Jameson announced.
“Awesome.” Nick, from the middle bed, had retrieved his glasses and begun to change back in to his own soot blackened clothes. “We need a diversion. How’s number seven sound?”
“I hate seven,” Dorothy said. “I always stub my toes.”
“Let’s put things in perspective,” piped up Hanley, from the last bed. “We just saved an elderly couple from burning to death.”
“And their cat,” Nick added.
“And their cat.”
Christopher looked out the window. “No diversions. It’s only the third floor. You all,” he addressed Dorothy, Tucker, and Mr. Jameson, “can take the doors out and then we’ll meet you.” Mr. Jameson looked like he’d accidently swallowed a bug, but he followed Dorothy and Tucker out. The three of them smiled morosely at the staff, waved the reporters away, and headed for the parking lot.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” A reporter ran after them, tripping in her high-heeled shoes. A cameraman followed her. “What’s it like?” she asked Dorothy, shoving a microphone at the girl. “Having heroes for brothers?”
“It’s been so hard for my family,” Dorothy said, and though the tears were fake, the response was not. Behind the reporter she could see her brothers untwist themselves and dust off.
"Ma'am?" Mr. Jameson asked. "May I have some time alone with my sons and daughter?"
"Of course. Call if you need any assistance." The nurse paused on her way out, as if struggling to say one last thing, then left. The figures in the beds sat up as soon as she did. The young man in the middle bed spoke.
"Dorothy, be a lifesaver and peel the skin off my back, will you?" he asked. A girl, one of the two people who had been sitting on chairs, nodded. She walked towards the boy in the middle bad and moved the shoulder of his hospital gown to display a cracked and bloody back. She deftly peeled off some charred skin and tossed the refuse into a garbage bin. The young man shuddered. "You forget how gross it is. Now, hand me my glasses."
"Boys!" Mr. Jameson, on the verge of a shout, said. "Goddamn it boys, did you die in that fire?" No one spoke until the blonde haired young man from the rightmost bed sighed.
"Well, I did," he said. He was Christopher, the eldest of the Jameson children, followed by Nick and then the triplets, Henley, Dorothy, and Tucker.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Mr. Jameson announced.
“Awesome.” Nick, from the middle bed, had retrieved his glasses and begun to change back in to his own soot blackened clothes. “We need a diversion. How’s number seven sound?”
“I hate seven,” Dorothy said. “I always stub my toes.”
“Let’s put things in perspective,” piped up Hanley, from the last bed. “We just saved an elderly couple from burning to death.”
“And their cat,” Nick added.
“And their cat.”
Christopher looked out the window. “No diversions. It’s only the third floor. You all,” he addressed Dorothy, Tucker, and Mr. Jameson, “can take the doors out and then we’ll meet you.” Mr. Jameson looked like he’d accidently swallowed a bug, but he followed Dorothy and Tucker out. The three of them smiled morosely at the staff, waved the reporters away, and headed for the parking lot.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” A reporter ran after them, tripping in her high-heeled shoes. A cameraman followed her. “What’s it like?” she asked Dorothy, shoving a microphone at the girl. “Having heroes for brothers?”
“It’s been so hard for my family,” Dorothy said, and though the tears were fake, the response was not. Behind the reporter she could see her brothers untwist themselves and dust off.
