"What I Witnessed on the Hotel TV" by Alaina Hammond
first published in Third Wednesday Magazine
The man says to me, “We have to go. We have to go right now.”
I don’t know who this man is, exactly. I’m not sure whether or not I love him, or trust
him. But I do know I am not leaving my house. Not with him. Not with anyone.
“No. I’m staying here.”
He sighs. He wipes his glasses. He says, “I’m so sorry, Cora.”
And then he grabs me, with both his arms. He carries me outside, against my will. He is so much taller and stronger than I am.
I scream. I fight. I call for my husband.
In the car, beside me, are children. I don’t know their names, although they seem vaguely familiar. They’re crying as loud and as angrily as I am.
A few hours later, I return to a bubble of lucidity. I’m still not entirely sure what’s
happening. To me. To us. To the world.
I ask my son why we’re here.
He says, “We’re in a hotel.”
“Yes yes,” I say, impatiently. “I didn’t ask where we were. I’m asking WHY?”
He turns on the TV, as if that in itself is an explanation.
I see fire. Fire everywhere.
“That’s our home,” my son tells me. In the bathroom, I hear his wife attending to their
children. “Had we stayed an hour longer, we’d be dead.”
I look at the flames and have no idea what they have to do with me, with my life. They
seem irrelevant, removed, so far away. I can’t smell anything burning. All I smell is sheets.
“I don’t understand. That’s not where our house is.”
“You’re right. When I said ‘our home’ what I meant was the general area. A three-mile
radius, at least.”
This is getting too complicated. “Lucas,” I say. I think that’s his name. “I’m sorry. I’m
very confused.”
“That’s OK, Mom. It’s hard, I know. Try to sleep, if you can. I’ll explain again in the
morning.”
I decide to trust this man. I think he’s my son, and my husband’s son. It’s easier than
fighting and oh god. I’m so tired.
The man turns off the TV, but the image of flame lingers for a second. And in that second I imagine I can smell it.
But it’s probably just a memory of fire’s aroma.
I’m so far away.
Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, plays, short stories, philosophical essays, creative nonfiction, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. Publications include Spinozablue, Paddler Press, Fowl Feathered Review, Synchronized Chaos, Well Read Magazine, Concision Poetry Journal, New World Writing Quarterly, Lowlife Lit Press, Flash Phantoms, New Limestone Review, L’Esprit Literary Review, Rock Salt Journal, and Havik. @alainaheidelberger on Instagram.