Yes. The previous version was too compressed for what you’re trying to publish. I can make it much longer and more immersive, with more scenes before the prom, a deeper relationship between the girl and Caleb, the police investigation, the parents’ involvement, the original fire revealed piece by piece, and a stronger emotional ending.
I’ll keep it as one continuous story so your automatic site divider can split it into pages.
A GUY ASKED ME TO DANCE AT PROM WHEN NO ONE ELSE WANTED TO BECAUSE OF THE SCARS ON MY FACE — THE NEXT MORNING, HIS PARENTS SHOWED UP AT MY HOUSE WITH THE POLICE.
When I was nine years old, a fire tore through our kitchen while my mother was asleep upstairs.
I remember everything.
Not every detail.
But enough.
Enough that sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night convinced I can smell smoke.
Enough that even now, years later, the sound of a smoke alarm can make my heart race.
Enough that I still remember my mother’s voice.
“Emily! Get up!”
I remember opening my eyes and seeing her standing in my doorway.
Her hair was messy.
Her face was terrified.
There was smoke behind her.
