Life isn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be. But no matter how hard life gets, you’re supposed to do everything in your power to be the best person you can be and help others. I spent my entire life getting this idea hammered into my belief system.

 

Thankfully, I’ve been fortunate enough to live a life that is easier than most. I was never poor, or hungry. I’m not missing any body parts, and I’m exceptionally healthy. It’s because of my fortunate life that I decided that I would help others who weren’t dealt a hand as lucky as mine.

 

After some experience volunteering at a hospital in high school, I discovered what it is I’d do with my life to help better the lives of others. With the help of some friends I picked up through the years, and a hefty sum of money my family loaned me, I opened a non-profit daycare for children with developmental disabilities.

 

The journey was a bit rougher than I was hoping, but life isn’t easy, right?

 

From the certifications, to the permits, the faculty and staff, it was all a headache, but one that would ultimately be worth it. In only three years, I was able to achieve my goal. And it was just as perfect as I imagined.

 

A majority of the children we interact with and teach live with down syndrome, though there are a handful of students who have cerebral palsy. They’re all amazing. Every single one of them. They’re more eager to learn than most students in high school and it’s such a refreshing energy to be around on a daily basis. I handpicked the staff to make sure the children would be getting the attention they deserved. There are so many horror stories out there about developmentally disabled children who get abused by their caretakers and it sickens me to my stomach that there’s any kind of human who would treat these kids in such a horrid manner.

 

Thankfully, that’s not something we have to worry about.

 

One of my closest friends and respected staff member is Devyn. She pushed me to pursue this dream and now she’s my right-hand woman and life coach to these kids. Not a life coach like an adult would have. Life coach is just a title I gave the teachers, since they help these kids with more than academic learning.

 

The faculty consists of five life coaches, two janitors, three volunteers, and myself. I own the place and act as a sort of principal. I sit in on lessons every chance that I get, and I make sure that things are running as smoothly as can be.

 

Today, unfortunately, things aren’t running smoothly.

 

I’m in my office looking over some paperwork— nothing terribly important but it’s stuff that has to be taken care of. I almost mindlessly start writing down some supplies the life coaches will be needing in the coming weeks when I hear the fire alarm go off. Instinctively, I jump out of my chair and run into the hallway. Behind me, I see four classroom doors opening and the respective life coaches poking their heads out to see what caused the fire alarm.

 

As I continue to run down the hallway, I see that the classroom door of the fifth and last classroom is entirely engulfed in flames. The fire is raging so loudly that the shrill screaming from the children trapped in the classroom are barely audible. I looked back to see who the life coaches behind me are, and sure enough, Devyn isn’t among them. She’s trapped, too.

 

“Call 911!” I shout at nobody in particular and at everyone and anyone who can hear me. “And get the kids out of here!”

 

Seeming much calmer than I feel, the life coaches instruct their kids to form a single file line and start to head in the direction opposite the fire. Once I hear Liza, another life coach, phone the fire department, I spring into action. In my state of panic, I completely forget that there is a brand new unused fire extinguisher in my office. But that’s just one of many things I’ll be adding to the “hindsight 20/20” list.

 

Instead, I run down the hallway and break a fire axe from its glass encasement and run around the perimeter of the facility to get to the windows of the classroom in danger. The windows are protected by metal bars, though the only thing they’re protecting the children and Devyn from at the moment is safety.

 

Devyn instructs her children to get near the windows and on the floor. Thank goodness she remembered her training. But I can’t wait for the firefighters to arrive. These kids are only moments away from suffocating. I jam the blade of the axe under two of the metal bars and use every bit of strength in me to push the bars off the window.

 

I’ve heard of people using superhuman strength due to adrenaline in a time of distress, but this is the first time it’s happened to me. I nearly pull a muscle, but it doesn’t faze me at all. After releasing an unintended roar, I manage to bust three bars from their place on the building’s wall. This only leaves enough room for one person to jump through at a time, but after opening the window, the kids make a surprisingly time-efficient escape.

 

But only the kids.

 

“Jamie’s still in there with Ms. Devyn,” some of the kids cry between coughs.

 

Jamie is one of our children who needs the most help and attention. It doesn’t surprise me that he wouldn’t have the same urgency to get out of the room as the other kids have shown. And it also doesn’t surprise me that Devyn would stay behind with him, risking her own life in the process.

I instruct the children to head away from the fire and towards the sidewalk where the children from the other classrooms are gathered, before jumping into the smoke-filled room. Through the thick, black smoke, I find Devyn passed out on top of a child. Her hand seems to be covering Jamie’s face, surely an attempt to make sure Jamie inhales as little smoke as possible.

 

With some remorse, I choose to push Devyn off the child and carry the child out into safety first, leaving her with one of the other life coaches. Before I have a chance to run back inside and save Devyn, the firefighters finally arrive and forcefully keep me from interfering.

 

A wave of relief falls over me knowing that professionals are here. But I’m worried about whether Devyn’s okay. And the fire is only spreading, having reached the janitors’ supply closet now.

 

Only seconds after the arrival of two firetrucks, an explosion goes off inside the building. All the chemicals comprising the cleaning supplies we have stored in the supply closet make the perfect ingredients for an impromptu bomb. The building starts to come down, room by room. All I can think is: I left Devyn in there.

 

Even though a giant fireball erupts from the roof of the building, I push through the crowd and cry out Devyn’s name. A firefighter pulls me away from the destruction, but I keep my eyes trained on the hellfire the entire time. The fire rages, throwing more black smoke into the air and bits of burnt building over us.

 

From the billowing pillars of black smoke, a pair of firefighters run away from the flames carrying Devyn, still unconscious but thankfully alive. They carry her into an ambulance and unknowingly keep me from seeing her.

 

A crowd starts to form around the children, including a crew from the local news.

 

How did the fire start? Is anyone still trapped inside?

 

These were questions I had myself, but I couldn’t even think of who I’d ask. Devyn is being taken to hospital, she was the only person who could help me through this ordeal.

 

Police sirens. Shouting firefighters. The children’s cries. So much commotion.

 

And only three annoying words bounced around in my head as I watched my dream burn to a cinder by myself.

 

Life isn’t easy.