Burnt

So it was a really hot day at practice and Coach Bills was really trying to keep you guys going. The sun was burning through the holes in your cap, and you could feel it slowly toasting your hair.

Your body hadn’t even begun to sweat yet, probably because the sun was drying it all up, but you could feel it getting damp.

None of the team seemed to really wanna be there. You looked across the field and saw them sluggishly moping into their positions. You faced forward again to see Coach Bills stroll in carrying 3 large containers full of balls. You guys were definitely gonna be out there for a while.

Someone finally spoke up, “Coach Please!” It was Max pleading at first base.

“What?” Coach shouted at him aggressively.

“It’s hoooot!” He whined in response, followed by the team agreeing with whines of their own. Sadly, Coach wasn’t budging, and said, “Sorry boys, but nobodies gonna give you a break during a real game.” You all groaned, and got ready as he began to field the balls.

You guys may have been out there for what seemed like hours, without realizing that it had only been half an hour. Coach wasn’t even anywhere near done with the first bin, but your vision was getting hazy and you were starting to get light headed. You fantasized about the idea of passing out from exhaustion, thinking it’d be a perfect chance to get the rest you need.

While you zoned out into your fantasy, and enjoyed the slight breeze that was hitting you in the moment, you suddenly heard the clang of Coach’s bat against a ball. Your eyes snapped forward to see where it was headed, but before you could react, the ball hit you straight in the face. It bopped back onto the ground, and your blood started to dribble down right after it.

You tried to catch the blood in your hands and keep it all up to your face, as if that would do something. The pain was sharp, almost numbing, and you could feel it from inside your nose. You were afraid to touch it and the blood hadn’t stopped gushing. Eventually the team had surrounded you in concern.

Max asked if you were okay as if the answer wasn’t obvious, with all the blood around. Another teammate, Carlos helped you by untucking your shirt so you could use it to help stop the blood, instead of using your hand. The others just watched with concern and curiosity. In the meantime, Coach had finally found the first aid kit and called out to the team, “Bring him over here!”

The team walked you over to the dugout, where coach patched you up. While he was at it everybody just stood around watching, while a few other kids kicked sand around where your blood had landed. When he finished up he told you, “Everything seems fine, but your parents might wanna take you to the doctor later, just to be safe.” You didn’t feel fine. At this point you could barely keep your eyes open, and the only thing keeping you from keeling over was the fence you were were resting your head back against. At this point, all you could manage was breathing and keeping your eyes open.

“Alright practice isn’t over!” Coach shouted out, “Get back to your positions everyone.” They all groaned and whined while they made their way back to their positions. Coach called in one of the boys from outfield so he could take first base, and move Max to your position.

Max wasn’t happy about it. First base was the only position where the trees had grown long enough to provide shade.

Max tried to argue, “Why? So you can hit me in the face too?” He asked rhetorical, “No Way!” Coach laughed, then told him, “Get moving.” Max may have been his favorite, but Max looked absolutely miserable. Everyone did as they watched coach get ready to start fielding the balls again.

The guilt must’ve finally gotten to him, because he suddenly dropped the bat and the ball he was about to hit, then let out a sigh. “Alright, I was gonna wait until just a bit later,” he said, “but I guess you guys have been through enough.” He popped open one of the containers, grabbed a water balloon from inside and threw it at Max.

The whole team started cheering and ran in to join the fun. Coach abruptly stopped them by putting his hands up and yelling, “Wait!” He went on, “I knew it was gonna be scorching hot today so I got this for you guys, so you could still practice on your aim while cooling off.” The team responded by thanking him and complimenting him as a coach. He then said “Have fun”, and ran off into the stands.

You were jealous. You wished you could join them, but you knew there was no way you could move. All you could do was close your eyes and enjoy the slight mist from the splashing water balloons, and the sweet smell that filled the air. Before you knew it, you had passed out. You quickly keeled over and your body slid down under the bench. Coach was too busy smoking in the stands to notice.

Not long after, the rest of the team also seemed to pass out from what seemed like exhaustion. They were all laid out together in the grass.

Carlos was struggling towards the coach, crawling and calling out for him. Carlos’ head was hurting a lot, and he was having trouble standing up. None of the team could.

Coach walked up, and placed his hand over Carlos’ head. Carlos cried, “It hurts!”, and fire started to spread across his body. It moved across the grass, and onto the bodies of all his other teammates.

* * *

You woke up several hours later in a hospital. The doctor spoke to you softly. She told you that you were lucky to make it. She explained that you had been severely dehydrated, you likely suffered from a heat stroke, carbon monoxide poisoning, and the broken nose you received had made it almost impossible for you to breath properly. You barely understood what any of it meant, and then a cop came in.

The cop asked you what you remembered. You explained everything that had happened up until the moment you passed out. You made sure that they understood, that it wasn’t coach’s fault your nose broke. That it was your fault for not paying attention.

The cop told you that the rest of your team had been found burnt to death. The cop pulled out a plastic bag with a busted water balloons inside and asked, “Did they look like this?” You nodded your head yes. He said, “Thank you, that’s all for now”, and went on to speak with your parents outside the room.

Nothing was making sense.

When the officer pulled out the balloon, you caught a whiff of that same sweet scent you smelt before passing out.

While your parents were driving you back home, you were trying to make sense of it all. It made you sad that your whole team was gone. You’d never hear Max whine again. You’ll never get the chance to thank Carlos for his help. You wondered what’d you be doing next Saturday, instead of practice.

When your parents stopped to put gas in the car, you caught a whiff of that same sweet scent again. You had an idea about how your team was burnt death and you just started crying. You cried, and called yourself stupid for not realizing sooner. You kept crying until you blamed yourself.

When your parents found you burning yourself with candles, they discovered the other burn marks. They got you help. Your therapist diagnosed you with survivors guilt and PTSD.

They told you your coach was a sick man, with a disgusting habit of burning children. You couldn’t understand it. Nobody could, just like nobody could’ve known that the sweet smell that filled the air that day was poison. A poison that forced everyone to lay down and accept what happened to them.

You started to hate the smell of that poison, and as you grew older you hated those who tried to care for you. You didn’t know how to trust them anymore. The cops never found him, but you did. 10 years later and you just happened to find him right where it happened.

* * *

You were now 18, and you had gotten into the habit of visiting that field whenever you needed to think. While you were sitting in the bleachers, he approached them and you didn’t realize it was him until you locked eyes.

He was a very old man and you might’ve missed him if he hadn't come close, but there was no way you could mistake his eyes. Those were the same eyes that were close to yours while they patched your nose up. Those were the eyes of someone you trusted, before they did something terribly wicked.

You stood up. Your mind was burning with questions, and you didn’t know what to do next, until you realized the answers were right in front of you. You were obviously afraid, but you asked him, “Why’re you here?”

His face widened from the common grimace of an old man into a familiarly childish grin. He walked up the bleachers, and just before sitting down next to where you stood, he answered, “I came to visit my favorite team.”

You were confused. There was no team. You hesitated and stuttered between words trying to figure out what he meant. There were only the leftover ashes of the team he killed, that have long since been blown away, and scattered across the field. You finally asked, “Why’d you do it?”

He lit his cigarette, and took a quick pull off it. You stared at him in disgust, as the fumes from his lighter forced you to catch a whiff of that poisonous smell again. “Because I loved you all” he answered.

You were confused again. Speechless. Of all the reasons, and of all the things he could’ve said, there was no way you could make sense of that.

He looked up at you, recognized your confusion, and decided to go on, “I wanted you all to feel my fire. Nobody would ever love you kids as much as I did, not even your parents,” he said. “I can’t imagine the pain you all would’ve gone through if you had to go on trying to find love as strong as what I felt for you all.”

He stood up and slapped his chest as he continued, “I’ve lived through that pain, and I didn’t wanna let you kids suffer like me, so I decided to save you all with my fire. Love is like fire. It spreads and consumes everything in its path without any concern for the consequences.”

He looked at you in a sad way, and continued, “I was so heartbroken when I realized I had left you out. You’ve had to live with that pain haven’t you? It’s too late for you, isn’t it?” After he said that, he tried to put his hand up to your face, but you instinctively pushed him away.

He fell back, off the stands, hit his head on the pavement below, and instantly died.

You watched in shock as the blood started to seep out of his lifeless body.

You eventually sat down, feeling both relieved and frustrated. Possibly because you had just killed someone, but it was likely because you weren’t any closer to understanding why Coach Bills did it. You would never understand him because he was sick. You thought he cared, people convinced you he didn’t, and now he just died saying he did.

You still couldn’t help but wonder what it was ‘too late’ for?