Jot 1.5

The heroic stranger dragged Laurel through the smoking debris, coughing and staggering. Laurel clutched his shirt and tried to use her legs, but she could not. She could see the strain in his eyes as he carried her; the fire reflected in the shine of his perspiration on his face.  She was too heavy for him. She could feel it as her legs began to drag lower and lower on the floor below them as they squirmed through the debris. Laurel wanted to say something. She wanted to tell him to go on without her. But he didn't leave her back at the rock and she knew he would refuse to do so now. So, they would both die.

Finally, the man collapsed and both fell to the ground coughing and panting.
"Please," Laurel pleaded, "Just go! You can't save me. Save yourself."
The man ground his teeth together and grimaced, his head bowing. Suddenly, he roared and, grabbing her, pulled them both up, screaming, "I can't do that! But I can, and I WILL save you!"  He dragged her farther into the debris, closer to what they both hoped would lead to an exit. He pulled her over and under, through and around, coughing as smoke continued to enter his lungs, but he continued to hold her and his grip did not slacken again.
"Do you feel that?" the man asked as he continued to carry her.
"What?"
"The air. It's...clearer, cleaner. I...I think we're close!"
Laurel lifted her head and tried to concentrate, to notice the difference the man noticed. At first, nothing seemed changed. But soon Laurel noticed the freshening air.
"There!" the man called out. "I see it! I see a way out!" His pace quickened at the sudden realization of hope, of life and soon both were lying on the grass across the street, panting and crying in the glow of the streetlight.

Jot 1.4

Laurel continued to sob quietly in her small tomb, her own personal mausoleum. But perhaps it wasn't her own. How many others had been spending the night in the Bed and Breakfast? How many more were stuck under the rubble? How many were no longer panicking as Laurel was, but as calm as the rubble now still and silent above her? How could this have happened? The Bed and Breakfast had looked sturdy and well kept as she climbed up the whitewashed steps. She had seen no flaws in the foundation, no cracks up the wall or holes in the roof. It was an old building, yes, but not one to tumble in on itself without cause or notice. There had been no tremor of the earth or gust of wind. One second Laurel was climbing into bed and the next her world was crumbling around her. One second she had been whole and the next, she was broken. What was the--suddenly, Laurel froze. Her eyes shot open and she stared at the glowing rock above her. Light? But not good light, not life-saving light. Laurel knew this, for it was not alone. A smell, a very distinct smell accompanied the glimmer, drifting in through the wreckage. Smoke. Burning. Death. Fire? The building was on fire? No! No! Now there was no hope at all! No chance of survival or rescue! Laurel screamed and wriggled beneath the weight of the stone slab on her legs. She had to get out! She had to free herself and crawl from the rubble, legless if she must. She could not die this way! "Help! Someone please help me!" But no one answered. Of course, no one could hear her. Who knows how much lay over her, how high the flames were, how loud their roar? "Please! Please help me! I--"

"Hello?"

Laurel froze. No. "Hello! Hello! Please help me!"

"Hello? Is there someone in here?"

"Yes! Yes! Please! I'm here! I'm here!"

"Keep yelling! I hear you!" It was a man's voice, calling to her through the mist. It echoed off the stone, making it impossible to pinpoint where it was coming from. But it was coming for her, and that's all Laurel cared about. She continued to yell, trying to stretch her cracking voice over the sound of the flames and over the occasional rock that clattered through the rubble. Soon, a shadow weaved between wood and stone as her rescuer drew nearer to her. A man rose from the dust. He crawled towards her on hands and knees. He had a long gash across his square jaw and his blonde hair looked gray from the coat of dust covering it. 

"Help me! Help me, please!" Laurel pleaded as he reached her. 

He placed his hand on her arm. "I will. Don't worry." He ran his eyes over her, assessing the situation. Laurel did not like the darkening of his expression as his study reached her legs smashed under the rock. 

"Is there...is there hope for me?" she asked. 

"I...I am sure there is. We just need to...need to get you out of there." 

Laurel bit her quivering lip. There was no hope for her and they both knew it. "Leave."

"What?" he stared at her questioningly. 

"It's...it's on fire. You need to get yourself out."

"I can't just leave you here."

"Yes, you---"

"No." He cut her off. The man climbed down the slab over her legs and pushed on it. It didn't move. He pushed harder, jamming his shoulder into the stone. It stayed still.

"Please, just go!" Laurel screamed. The man ignored her. Quickly, he grabbed a three foot beam laying a few feet away and jammed it under the stone. Putting all his weight on the end, the stone lifted a few inches.

"Can you move?" he grunted, his teeth grinding under the strain. Laurel tried to slide away. She moved a few inches, but it was not enough to free her.

"A little more!" The man pushed harder, groaning. Laurel pushed hard on the dirt with her palms, trying to drag her body out from under the rock. She could feel the underside of it scraping against her skin as she slid out, surprising her. She did not think she still had feeling left. Laurel ignored the pain and kept pushing. Finally, her feet appeared from under the rock and it fell with a boom as the man released it. 

"Are you all right?"

Laurel shook her head. She refused to look at her legs.

"Come on." He wrapped his arm around her back. "We need to get out of here."

Jot 1.3

He shoved his hand into his pocket and toyed with the small metal lighter he absentmindedly placed there every morning. He never left home without it. One doesn't know when an instant spark of flame will come in handy, when something needs to be destroyed, consumed by the most powerful source of devastation. This one of of these times, though his plan to use it had been in his mind long before grabbing it as part of his morning routine. He had to make sure, be completely positive. It had to burn.

He pulled the lighter out of his pants pocket and flicked it open. Running his finger along the side, a small flame flipped up and began to dance and flicker as he held it close to his face, his excited breath making it quiver. Staring at the rubble in front of him through the fire he held in his hand, he tossed the lighter into the remains of his old home and watched the flames begin to lick and consume, reaching higher and higher as the unceasing hunger was fueled but never quenched. He pushed his hands into his pocket and began walking away from his burning troubles. He smiled. He was going to need a new lighter.

Jot 1.2

Laurel coughed and sputtered as dust swirled around her face. She could feel it caking her skin, her lips, her tongue, and slowly her lungs. Her eyes were squeezed shut, too afraid to take in her surroundings, too worried about what she would see. Laurel tried to move. Her arms shifted, not much before they touched stone around her, but they did move. Her legs however, would not. She could not feel them. Panic began to rise up in Laurel, like the dripping water she could feel rise up around her face. Laurel squeezed her lids together, a tear seeped from between them and slid down the side of her cheek, stinging as it pushed dust into a cut there. She clutched at the blanket that lay in the puddle beneath her, the blanket that had been spread out over the lumpy twin mattress. She should never have come here. She should never have left Iowa. Laurel cursed under her breath and coughed. The joy she had experienced from leaving and finally getting out from under Jay’s thumb seemed insignificant and stupid now. Now, she was going to die.

       

Still unwilling to open her eyes, Laurel slowly lifted her hands, inching them out in front of her, above her. Her palms pressed against stone, inches from her face. Laurel gasped and drew in a quivering breath as tears streamed from her still closed eyes. She covered her mouth and sobbed, all hope draining from her. She was going to die. She was going to die. 

Jot 1.1

He sauntered away from the rubble, grinning to himself, pleased. It had gone so smoothly. No rock was left unturned, no wall was left standing, no witnesses were left alive. He stopped at the streetlight across the way and turned back to examine his work, clutching the cold of the light post in his fingers which were still shaking from the adrenaline.  The building, the quaint little house he had grown up in, now lay in a heap on the ground, each floor piled onto the next, dust still rising from it. He never had to see it again, never had to see that stupid, pink “Bed and Breakfast” sign the current owner…the previous owner had stuck in the front yard. It was done, finished. And now the person crushed beneath the rubble would never threaten him again.

JOT REMASTERED

Okay, okay. I relent. I will do you all a favor and take this off your hands. You don't have to worry about this anymore. Imma takin' control! This is mine now. You're welcome to read, but I will be doing the writing.