“Stir the pot, boy!” Donna barked from across the room. Kalmar jumped at the sound of her rough voice, then frantically ran over to the huge pot on the stove. Sure enough, huge bubbles were threatening to boil over. He snatched a wooden spoon from the counter and dunked it into the pot, doing just what he was told.

“Oi…” Donna sighed, pushing him out of the way as she took the spoon herself. She was a big lady, with her hair pulled tightly into a bun and covered with a hair net. She had only one expression to match: stern.

“You stir like this. This is the right way. See?” She demonstrated a very specific clockwise motion with the spoon. “Try.”

Kalmar tried not to roll his eyes. Only Donna would make someone learn how to stir a pot of soup. In the top five greatest discoveries he had made in his life, this would be like….the bottom one million.

He didn’t argue, though. Instead, he stirred the pot just like his kitchen supervisor had shown him, watching the steam curl upwards like little snakes. Donna nodded her head with approval, the deep lines around her mouth softening for just a moment.

“You learn fast.”

“I have a great teacher,” Kalmar flashed a grin. “Now for my resumè, I can put, ‘Learnt how to stir soup the right way’ on it.”

She was not amused.

At all.

Even the crickets would have shuddered at the silence that filled the room.

Eventually, she just muttered, “Children. They’re all hopeless,” shaking her head as she strode across the room, probably to cut vegetables the ‘right way’.

After five agonizing minutes of stirring soup, the door finally swung open to reveal Norman Barek’s cheerful face. Norman was the manager of the senior center, and he was a pretty happy guy. Super tall, though. Even Kalmar, who was pretty tall himself, had to look up to talk to him.

“Everything going okay?” Norman asked, glancing at the soup pot.

“Oh, yeah. I’m learning how to stir soup in the ultimate perfect way. What about you?” Kalmar grinned.

Norman laughed, winking one of his bright green eyes. “Maybe it’s time for you to head out. I heard you have this plane to catch soon?”

Kalmar shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Yup. I’m going to camp. In Florida. Exciting, huh?”

“That does sound nice.”

“Well, my parents are forcing me. Said it would be good to get away, explore new places, blah blah blah.”

“I think they’re right,” Norman said with a smile. “And anyway, thank you for all the volunteer hours you’ve put in over the break. We’ll definitely miss the help, but…we’ll manage.”

“It’s been pretty fun. Hanging out with old people every day. Kind of like a party.” Kalmar’s smile wavered a bit. He wouldn’t admit it, but part of him was sad that he was leaving for summer camp for a month. All the volunteering at the senior center was actually kind of fun.

For a moment, he stared at the big soup pot, realizing how much these small routines had started to matter.

“Hold up,” Norman stopped Kalmar right before he walked out. “Your bag is upstairs, in the storage room. Are you sure that’s all you need? That tiny thing doesn’t seem like enough for a whole month’s getaway.”

“It will be.”

He didn’t look so sure. “If you say so.”

“Bye, Mr. Barek.”

“See you, Kalmar. If there’s anything you need, just phone me, yeah? You know my number.” Norman smiled kindly and gave Kalmar one last pat on the shoulder before sending him off.

Kalmar’s thoughts buzzed as he walked up the stairs. Part of him just wanted to run back home and beg his parents to let him stay. At the same time, who knows? Maybe a new experience would help with…things.

Stinging tears flooded his eyes, memories resurfacing. He tried to push them down. To bury them deep within his mind, in the place labelled, ‘To Deal With Never’. The last thing Kalmar needed was to fall back into the guilt he had been trapped in for the last year.

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” his mother would say. “Just an accident.”

Still…it was his fault.

All of it.

He clenched his fist, willing the tears away. After a shaky breath, he forced himself to move, one slow step at a time.

Sighing, Kalmar slowly creaked open the door to the storage room. It was thick with the scent of dust and old, forgotten things. A single shaft of light cut through the gloom, catching the dust swirling in the stagnant air. If this were a horror movie, this would definitely be the spot where people went to die a painful death. But…

Eh.

It had a bit of charm to it. If you counted moth-eaten furniture, thick cobwebs, and the feeling that you were being watched, charm, then yeah. Absolutely full of it.

Ignoring the shivers crawling up his skin, he let his eyes adjust for a second before looking for his bag. Sure enough, it was there. Tucked away neatly behind a pair of crutches that probably haven’t seen the light of day for years. He picked it up, fingers brushing over the rough, faded fabric, feeling the frayed threads against his skin. Maybe he should’ve packed more, but…then what? Wasn’t that just admitting that he really was leaving? Running away from his problem?

Kalmar slowly swung the backpack over his shoulder. It was light, not nearly as heavy as it should have been. Reluctantly, he turned and walked away. As he stepped into the hallway, he hesitated again.

Something felt wrong.

A prickling heat crept up his arms, and the air thickened with the bite of smoke, stinging his nose and throat. Whipping around, Kalmar stared at the scene behind him. White-hot flames licked hungrily across the floorboards, devouring everything in their path. The door to the storage room was already a charred skeleton, and a furious, unnatural glow pulsed from within. Soot and smoke flew upward, turning the air thick and grey, coating his tongue with a bitter, chemical taste.

His mind reeled. This couldn’t be real, he’d only left the room seconds ago! No fire, no smoke. Nothing to warn him.

His first instinct was to turn and run, but his feet stayed glued to the floor, caught between disbelief and terror. All he could do was watch as the flames spread, faster than anything natural. He tried to will his legs to move, but they felt as heavy as stone. Horrible memories flashed through him, pumping his blood with fear.

Screams. Terrible, high-pitched screams filled only with pain and panic.

“Brother! Kalmar! Get me out!” The female voice cried. “It’s burning, Kalmar! Please!”

Tears stung his eyes, but not from the smoke. And for a second, he was that boy from last year again, staring helplessly at his burning house. Watching as his whole life crashed around him, listening to his tiny sister beg him to help.

He couldn’t.

The fire’s searing fingers seemed to reach for him, wrapping around his chest and squeezing the air from his lungs. Each breath was a struggle, his heart hammering wildly as the blaze crawled closer.

Kalmar barely noticed the sounding fire alarms. He didn’t even realize when a hand jerked him away from the flames, now an inch away.

“Boy!” The voice brought him back abruptly. Kalmar gasped, choking on the smoke that entered his lungs. Looking around widely, his eyes locked on Mr. Barek.

“Get out of here!” Norman shouted over the roar of the fire. “I’ll get everyone out. Just go!”

Kalmar didn’t need to be told twice. Stumbling down the stairs, he ran for the exit. Pushing past seniors and staff, he didn’t care. All he needed was to get out. To get away from the thing that ruined him before. That took his sister’s life.

Running for the sidewalk, his lungs were grateful for the fresh air the outside world provided. He could hear the fire trucks coming down the street, but didn’t stop to meet them. Instead, he kept going, eyes locked on the airport just a block away.

The further he got from the burning Senior’s Center, the more the fear started to dissolve, floating away in the smoke. His breaths slowed, and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. However, that fear was soon replaced by the guilt that settled on his shoulders. The seniors deserved better. He should have helped them, should have stayed. But the thought of going back, of facing the fire again, paralyzed him. He couldn’t do it.

Just couldn’t.

Stumbling through the airport doors, he kept his head down. People gave him worried glances, eyes studying his charred clothes and ash-coated hair. The man who took the tickets for flights almost gasped.

“Gosh, boy. You’ve been through heck, eh?”

“I’m fine,” Kalmar sighed, shoving the guy his ticket. “I was just at a…campfire. An accident happened, but I had no time to change before the flight.”

“Hm,” He still seemed suspicious, but shrugged and studied the flight number. “Ooh, on the summer camp flight for the students, are you? Enjoy.”

The man gave Kalmar a toothy grin and let him pass through.

Kalmar drifted through the crowds, every sound muffled, every colour faded. His hands still shook from adrenaline and shock, the memory of heat and screaming echoing inside him.

He tried to focus on the here and now. The loudspeaker’s garbled announcements, the sharp scent of coffee from a nearby kiosk, the cold bite of airport air on his cheeks. But guilt pressed heavier than his backpack. He should have helped more. He should have been braver. He should have saved someone, anyone.

Yet all he’d managed was to run.

Kalmar found an empty seat by a window and sat, gripping his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. For a long time, he stared at the window, watching planes take off and disappear into the clouds. Maybe that was what he wanted most: to vanish, to leave all the burned memories and failures far behind.

But he knew it wasn’t that easy. The fire, the guilt, the helplessness, they weren’t something he could outrun. They’d follow him, no matter how many miles he put between himself and that senior center.

He closed his eyes, letting himself feel the ache in his chest and the exhaustion in his bones. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t try to bury it. Maybe this time, he’d let himself feel it all.

And maybe, somewhere far above the clouds, he’d figure out how to forgive himself.