Canton Writes 2023: The Scream I’ll Never Forget

The Canton Citizen, a sponsor of the annual Canton Writes contest, will once again publish the winning entries as space permits. The selection below, by Ella Guarnotta, was the winning entry in the grades 3-5 short story category.

The Scream I’ll Never Forget

By Ella Guarnotta

It was Wednesday, April 12, when my life changed forever. That day I was sitting in my favorite rocking chair, reading my favorite book, wearing my favorite sweater, and listening to my favorite jazz soundtrack. It was just like any day … until I heard the scream. That scream was the loudest and scariest scream I had ever heard. I scrambled out of the chair like it was on fire. I had heard that scream before. It was my little sister Rosie’s scream! My body guided me into the kitchen where the scream had come from. What I saw was frightening beyond frightening. Flames were scattered everywhere — the counter, the table, basically every cabinet I could see. You name it, there were flames swallowing it up. Those flames were the first thing that caught my eye, but the second thing I saw would haunt me forever and ever. One glimpse at the counter and you would know that a candle had started that hideous fire. I was positive that Rosie had started it. But that was not the priority. I was going to save my sister no matter what.

On the inside I was petrified, but on the outside I shuffled past the table to where Rosie lay screaming and crying. I picked her up with all my might and bolted past all the flames. Smoke was flying up my nose, but that didn’t stop me. I ran and ran until I could smell the dry air outside. It smelled of smoke and ash. Without thinking, I dropped Rosie and ran for my life. “Sammy!” she hollered. I knew that all the books and toys that were left to be eaten alive by flames could be replaced. But my beloved little sister couldn’t. I quickly turned around. Right before I was about to pick her up again the flames spread onto the dry grass outside. I couldn’t stand the ash in my throat. Before I even had the chance to yell back at my sister, the flames gobbled her up. “Rosie!” I tried to yell. But at that moment somebody picked me up.

It was a firefighter! The firefighter sprinted across the lawn toward the house next door. Mrs. Gibbs, my neighbor, flung open her front door and the firefighter that had stopped me from saving my sister dropped me in her arms. As soon as I was secure in the fingertips of Mrs. Gibbs, the firefighter shouted questions at me. “Is there somebody else in that house?” he asked as quickly as possible. “No, but my sister is outside the front door in the flames,” I answered with a dry throat. As soon as the word “but” left my mouth the firefighter rushed back to the house and plummeted through the flames. For a moment, I thought that today might be the last of that sweet little sister of mine. That today might be the last time she smiles up at me, and that today might be the last time I watch her through my window running with the wind while her pretty pigtails trail behind her.

A few seconds later the firefighter dashed out of the flames with a little girl I knew by heart. Rosie was scarred and burn marks were all over her skin. I scurried out of Mrs. Gibbs’ yard and hugged my sister as if she was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. At first I thought that she was unconscious. But when I heard the almost silent sound of her little 6-year-old breath I knew that somehow she had made it. I never thought I would cry over the sound of my sister breathing, but here I am. Literally crying because I thought there was no possible way that Rosie could have survived that fire. The fire that I failed to rescue her from. The firefighter spoke first, “She was lying outside right next to the door when I found her. I thought she hadn’t made it until I heard her little voice say, ‘Help.’ I thought I was dreaming. She’s very lucky that she has a sister like you that was willing to take her out of those flames before they took her even deeper into the house. If you hadn’t been so brave she 100 percent would not have made it out of there alive.”

My tears soon vanished when I saw my parents’ minivan pull up into the debris that surrounded what was left of my house. Both Mom and Dad scurried over to where the firefighter, with Rosie in his arms, stood with me and Mrs. Gibbs next to him. Mom was the first to speak. “Sammy, what in the name of a mess happened?”

“I knew something was up when I heard Rosie scream. Then before I knew it Mrs. Gibbs was telling me everything was gonna be alright,” I replied. Dad spoke next. “I don’t care what happened, are you two alright?” This was the first time Rosie spoke. “I’m so hot and burned, but I’m okay.”

“We’re going to the hospital now,” Mom and Dad said at the same time. A few days later, the workers came to check out our house. Everything was fine besides the kitchen. About a week after the big fire, they came back to remove it. By then, my whole neighborhood had put together a helpful donation to rebuild our kitchen. Rosie arrived back home with a huge smile on her face.

If you were to come and ask Rosie or I how grateful we are that we are safe back home, we wouldn’t be able to explain in words. The day our new kitchen was done I celebrated by sitting in my favorite chair, reading my favorite book, wearing my favorite sweater (we washed it, don’t worry), and listening to my favorite jazz soundtrack, just how it all started. Only this time the day was better, much better.

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