pyrokinesis

The walls of the entrance hall were cold, permeated with the pungent smell of old paint and dampness. You sat on the concrete step between the second and third floors, hugging your knees. The most terrible thoughts crept into your head, and the tears seemed never-ending. You didn't want to go home. It was too painful and unbearable there. Your parents' constant quarrels and drinking binges. Every thing in your house reminded you of what had collapsed that very day. Here, in the entrance hall, where the light bulb flickered dimly, it seemed to you that you could simply forget yourself. Suddenly, footsteps were heard from above—light, swift. You held your breath, hoping that the person would pass by, but the footsteps stopped right in front of you. This silence turned out to be much more terrible than the noise itself. You felt a cold bead of sweat slowly trickle down your back, and your heart was beating very fast, ready to burst out at the slightest sound.

“Hey... ” a quiet, slightly uncertain voice rang out.

You didn't raise your head, you just pressed your face deeper into your knees.

• Are you... are you okay?