Wipe Head – Chapter 3: Flames of Fate
The world shattered in a scream.
Metal twisted, glass splintered, and the acrid stench of smoke clawed at William's nostrils. His ears rang, a high-pitched, relentless sound that drowned out everything else. Chaos swallowed him whole. His father's voice, sharp, commanding, protective, pierced the smoke. His mother's gentle pleas, mixed with Emily's high-pitched squeals, echoed in his mind. And then — a single, violent crash. It was a sound that would haunt him forever.
William reached out blindly, fumbling in the chaos for his family. The truck struck with brutal force, flipping the car over as if it were a toy, metal screeching and glass exploding like rain. Flames licked at the mangled vehicle, black smoke curling toward the sky. Panic clawed at his chest. "Mom! Emily! Dad!" he screamed, his small voice drowned in the roar of metal, fire, and death.
His little sister's hand brushed against his arm — a fleeting touch of warmth, life, and hope — and then she was gone.
Pain seared through him as the fire kissed his skin. His half-burnt face throbbed, each nerve ending screaming in agony. He could smell the scent of charred flesh, see the fire reflecting off twisted metal. His mother's scream pierced the air, raw and terrifying, her body thrown violently against the wreckage. His father's protective arms, strong and steady for so long, were crushed beneath the tires of the monstrous truck. And Emily… he remembered the balloon, drifting uselessly into the smoke, floating above the carnage, a cruel symbol of lost innocence.
William's world collapsed. His tiny hands touched the charred remnants of what had been his family. Skin, blood, fire — everything melded into an unholy scene that would live in his mind forever. The agony overwhelmed him, and he fainted.
---
When he opened his eyes again, the world was cold, sterile, and unfeeling. The hospital was a sanctuary of white, but it offered no comfort, only silence. His face was hidden beneath thick bandages, the worst of the burns concealed, though every movement hurt. Every breath reminded him of what he had lost. And yet, beneath the pain, an emptiness gnawed at him — a hollow, unfillable void.
A doctor approached cautiously, her voice soft, almost hesitant. "William… I'm sorry. Your… your family didn't survive."
The words tore through him like jagged knives. His chest tightened, his lungs constricted, and the tears welled up uncontrollably. He couldn't believe it. His little sister, full of life and laughter. His mother, gentle and loving. His father, strong and protective. All gone. In a single, merciless moment.
He cried, clutching the crisp hospital sheets, tiny hands trembling. His mind refused to process it. The world had abandoned him, leaving him alone in its merciless wake.
"Shhh… William," the nurse whispered, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. "You need rest. Your body… it's weak."
The prick of the needle stung briefly, warmth spreading through his veins as sedation pulled him under. Sleep was a merciful escape from the horror. Yet even as his eyes closed, the images burned in his mind — the fire, the screams, the grotesque brutality of the accident. Sleep did not erase the nightmare; it merely pressed it down, waiting to return.
---
Days passed in a blur. Hospital walls became his world — white, quiet, motionless. Nurses moved around him, gentle, careful, but William hardly noticed. His mind replayed the crash endlessly, every flicker of flame, every scream, every moment of violence. It was as if the world had paused outside, leaving him trapped in perpetual horror.
The bodies had already been prepared for burial. He could hear muffled sobs outside his room, the distant toll of funeral bells. His wide, unblinking eyes followed every movement, a witness to a tragedy too vast for his young mind to comprehend. How could life be so cruel? How could the world allow such horror?
He was given bandages, creams, and careful instructions to care for his burns. But no medicine could fill the gaping hole inside him. No doctor could stitch together the raw, screaming wound left by grief. The hospital could patch the flesh, but it could not mend the soul.
Night fell. Shadows stretched across the ceiling, flickering with the faint glow of machines. William lay awake, tracing shapes and memories with his gaze, recalling Emily's laughter, his mother's gentle voice, his father's strong arms. The memories cut deeper than the fire ever could.
"Why… why me?" he whispered, voice cracking, raw with pain. "Why did this happen?"
No answer came. Only silence. Only the ghostly echoes of a life stolen in a heartbeat. His eyelids grew heavy, and once again, the needle offered a temporary reprieve, carrying him into a fragile, sedated sleep — a fragile escape from a reality too cruel to face.
---
Meanwhile, hundreds of kilometers away, the world continued, indifferent to the suffering of one small boy.
Sam Robertson tapped quickly at a laptop, Hana leaning over his shoulder, eyes scanning the screen. "Are you sure these tickets are available? The cabin looks incredible."
"Yep," Sam said, excitement threading his voice. "Flights, cabin, activities… all booked. Switzerland, here we come."
Michelle, Laura, Marty, and Luna crowded around, laughter mingling with light chatter. They planned every detail meticulously — hikes, skiing, food, even small excursions to nearby villages. Anticipation buzzed through the room, a sharp contrast to the darkness lurking far away in the mountains.
Marty grinned. "I can't wait. Snow, mountains, hot chocolate… this is going to be epic."
Luna twirled a strand of hair, dreamy smile in place. "It's exactly what we need after graduation. Ten years of chaos… now freedom."
Hana looked at Sam. "We'll stick together. No surprises. Just us and the mountains."
Their laughter carried, unaware of the shadow silently waiting in the snowy peaks — a shadow shaped by fire, loss, and hatred.
---
In the mountains, William lay curled beneath a blanket, his bandaged face a mask of pain. The boy was broken, weak, and scarred, yet the fire within him had begun to burn brighter than the flames that had destroyed his family. Pain had twisted into hatred. Grief had hardened into strength. Innocence had been replaced with a brewing, terrible power.
The world did not yet know the name "Wipe Head," but the boy who had survived fire, metal, and brutality was already evolving into the monster the townsfolk would soon fear. Each breath he took, each flicker of movement in his hospital room, marked the slow forging of something unstoppable.
And far away, the friends celebrated, their lives moving forward in joy and freedom, oblivious to the fate inching closer from the mountains. The accident that had stolen his family had planted a seed — one that would grow into a towering, merciless force of terror.
William survived. But the boy who had laughed, played, and dreamed with his family was gone. In his place, a shadow stirred — silent, patient, and deadly.