Letter To Bandit


Letter to Bandit


The heat engulfs your heart.


Smoke in, smoke out.

Cough cough, your four-legged body drops to the ground.


911 call them

Ring ring they’re not answering


The flames rip through the home you lived, I lived


The memories, broken bones, healed hearts, laughter, our love, and family. The fire ripped through it all with a passion.


We called, we cried

I found out last


Teachers pulling me out of class after hearing the news only minutes after finding out myself.

Talk talk, are you okay?

Talking hurt like putting salt and peroxide on a stab wound already through my heart.

They didn’t know. The questions come, more salt added.


Things lost to never be gained.


I lost my dogs, books, the home I lived in since birth, unity with my family, my toys, heck I was only 13. I lost the piano keys, guitar strings, my memories and stories.

My dad’s heart was smashed as I saw him crumble to the ground in the middle of the street, as he cried out.


In two days I would be 14. A birthday with more crying than smiles.

Birthdays shouldn’t be like that. Even I know.


In two weeks I’ll go back to school.


Overall, I’ll smile. But only because they don’t understand the salt they’ll add when they ask questions because I’m not happy.

Won’t know about the flames that ripped through our home and the things that were lost.


The home I lived, the home you lived.



Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741