Brave (Story)

Short story from the Time Out AU.

Brave
Point of View: Ezra Ellis Wolff

It was a warm summer evening, around 9 o’clock. Six year old Ezra lied in bed, knowing full well it was already past her bedtime. But she was still wide awake because of the noises outside. She laid on her side, staring outside her window, at the water running down the glass, the bright flashing light, at all the lights coming out of other windows where other people were maybe also looking outside.

The bright flash lit up her room, a loud noise filling her ears, and Ezra sat up. For a moment, she couldn’t move, but then she relaxed and smiled. The girl wasn’t afraid of what her mother called “thunder”, she wasn’t afraid of “lightning”, no. Ezra was brave. Her mother told her it was just like when the big boys from the eighth year yelled at her - they would only yell. It was only loud. It wouldn’t hurt her. Ezra wasn’t scared, she never was.

She lied down again and closed her eyes. But as soon as it was supposed to quiet down to only the sound of rain tapping the glass of the window, the little girl noticed another sound. It was a hissing sound, along with something that sounded like someone grabbing a bag of chips. It sounded familiar, but Ezra couldn’t place it.

Curious as she was, she slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the creaking wooden floor. She reached toward the light switch, stood on her toes, but she wasn’t tall enough. Through the little window in the door, she could see light coming out of the hallway, but apart from the cracking and soft hissing, it was quiet. She climbed onto her desk, hit the light switch and pushed down the door handle.

She cautiously opened the door. Her room was at the end of the hallway, and the light seemed to come out of the living room. Just as she stepped outside her room, a loud, high beep sounded through the apartment. Ezra immediately put her hands on her ears, but the noise pierced through everything she tried to keep the noise away with.

Ezra continued her way onto the living room. The door wasn’t fully closed, and the yellow light colored a small stripe on the wooden floor. With every step she took, the floor beneath her feet creaked. She pushed open the door and stepped into the living room. Then she saw the light.

Ezra recognized the light. She had never seen it so big.

Her parents had told her about the light, but she didn’t remember what it was called. It was mesmerizing, almost magical. It was almost as if it was a spirit, trying to hold the entire room with the many arms it had. She noticed her grandfather laying on the couch facing the light, coloring the wall and his shape yellow, his eyes closed. If only she could wake him up so they could watch the light together…

“Grandpa, look!” Ezra said, shaking her grandfather back and forth. The room was getting hot, sweat beaded over her forehead, and Ezra saw the spirit reaching out to even more. It grabbed onto the door, the windows, the closet. Ezra could watch it forever. Her grandfather moved a little and yawned. “What is it, love?”

“Look, there’s light in our room. A beautiful light.”

Her grandfather mumbled something about the hot summer weather, as soon as he opened his eyes. Ezra could see his eyes widen, but it wasn’t the same way her eyes widened. She didn’t recognize the dreaminess she expected. She saw fear.

“Ezra. Ezra! Ezra, listen to me.”

Tears welled up in the little girl’s eyes. She had never seen grandpa like this. She had never heard grandpa yell at her like this. Why was he so upset? Did she do something wrong?

“Go outside. Run to the little playground outside, you know the one, right?”

She nodded.

“No matter what, you have to go outside. But, never, never touch the fire, okay?”

“F-fire?” It all hit her in that moment. She could hear her mother’s voice telling her about fire. How it was beautiful, hot, but most of all - dangerous. And then she understood. She had to run. Run away from the fire. “But… what about you, grandpa?”

Her grandfather swallowed, and smiled. “I’ll see you outside. Don’t wait for me. Run, be brave.”

“I’m brave.” She said.

“Now go.”

Then the room exploded. Ezra screamed. The fire grabbed her, her hand, her pajamas, her hair, everything. A smash in the hallway, and then there was a woman. A woman, like her mother, but with a helmet and brown clothing. The world was blurred, and Ezra could only see silhouettes and colors. The woman grabbed her and wrapped her in a green blanket. Ezra lied in the woman’s big arms, while they went down. Ezra closed her eyes and breathed. Her skin felt like she was still there in the fire, but she was silent. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t yell. She was brave.

I’m brave.

I’m brave.

I’m brave.

Keeping her eyes pinched, so the tears wouldn’t come out, Ezra repeated the words in her head.

I’m brave.

I’m brave.

I’m brave.

She wished that when she opened her eyes, she was there, lying in bed, her mother sitting next to her. Then when she’d open her eyes, her mother would tell her everything was a bad dream. But then she opened her eyes, and the only thing she saw was rain. The beep still went on.

The woman was still holding her. A shiver went down her spine. Compared to the living room, outside was cold.

Ezra felt tears welling up in her eyes again. No, she told herself. I’m not crying.

I’m brave.

She opened her mouth to say it.

I’m brave.

“I'm…”

But all else that came out was just a soft sobbing. And Ezra wished for her grandfather, her mother, her father. She wished for a familiar hand to hold in the warm yet so cold night. And she cried.

I'm not brave.

I'm scared.