The Birth of a Wishing Heart

16. A Cover Story

"Mamma!" Hansel tried to shriek between coughs. Strangers grabbed at his shoulders and waist to pull him away. He could almost touch her. His fingers stretched out desperately blindly seeking his mother's hold. "Get off! She's in there!" He thrashed and tried to kick away the hands that tried to separate them. Water was thrown on his clothes that calmed with a light sizzle. The water seeped through holes in the fabric, partly stinging, partly bringing relief to his red skin.

Their protests didn't make sense. He threw himself forward and reached out only for the tip of his fingers to feel bland metal. He jerked his hand away at the burning touch. Another large bucket of water was thrown before him. His drenched hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He coughed and tried to blink his watering eyes open as smoke spread into a larger cloud.

The smoke began to clear as the burning in his chest kept him from reaching. He put a hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath while hands only grew more frantic around him. The voices of the crowd behind him mixed into incomprehensible noise.

The image only lasted a moment, but he couldn't look away.

Holes.

There were so many tears and bloodied holes that grew to reveal diminishing muscle and bone underneath. Her eyes were oozing from their sunken sockets, but she was watching him. Her flesh spread and melted to the sides, sticking to the ground like nothing. She was still reaching for him.

That putrid smell in the air, it was his mother.

A familiar voice called him in the distance. It came closer and grabbed his shoulders pulling him up. He knew he should have been looking at his father- instead all he saw was melting flesh.

It wasn't until the adrenaline started to run out that he found himself unable to think of anything but the pain in his lungs. He could feel the throbbing all throughout his body. His uncontrollable sobs did nothing to aid his breathing. There were too many people, the air was thinning. He couldn't breathe.

Hansel woke up to a cold damp handkerchief on his forehead. He felt a little stiff with the bandages wrapped around his arms. He winced as he pressed his palms onto the sheets to force himself into a sitting position. He blinked his heavy eyes slowly and took in his surroundings.

He was laid down on a hay mat that resided in a large crowded tent. Other beds were laid beside his with sleeping individuals, different families around each bed. Lamps that steamed with a fragrance were scattered throughout while natural light streamed through the sides of the tent. Overlapping strange whistles sang through the fresh air. A pitcher of water sat beside him along with a piece of board.

His Itchy eyes widened and he reached toward it without hesitation. He chugged the cool drink, in large quantities it made his throat feel scratchy but he couldn't find himself stopping. Small droplets dripped down his chin onto his pants before he parted from it and gasped for air.

He placed the pitcher back to its previous position before wiping his lips with his sleeve. He squinted as he looked back at his palms, turning them over quickly. Why were they so red? He looked around at the other patients in bed. Most were asleep, some were painted in soot, some had burns littered through their limbs. His fingers trembled as he remembered the heat. He took off the handkerchief from his forehead and felt his bandages. They were thick and held something underneath, probably crushed aloe, but why?

"He's awake." He shifted his gaze to see a man put another container of herbs on a table and approach him. A woman quickly ran out of the tent. "Your father is helping dig a water trench to further suffocate the fire, but a messenger was sent to let him know you're awake. How are you doing?"