Trauma.

Traumatized. 

That's what it left her. 

She could still see the large orange flames that engulfed the house. She could still feel the dry smoke blow against her skin. She could still smell the terrible scent of the burning objects, she could feel the unwanted air rushing down her throat and into her lungs. The warmth on her skin was wrong, it didn't belong, she wanted it gone. 

A lump formed in her throat and she sank on her knees, her shoulders starting to quake. Her body started trembling, her eyes started blinking rapidly, and involuntarily, she started taking quick, sharp breaths to try to calm herself down. The oxygen rushed down her throat, unwanted. Denied. Not registering into her lungs. The woman spluttered and coughed, clutching at her throat and trying to breathe. 

She denied the air. 

Her body denied the air. 

It was as if she were drowning, drowning, drowning. It was like the pressure of the water was pushing her chest down, down, down into the dark depths of the ocean. The more she tried to breathe, the more the chances of suffocating, drowning, and choking would occur. She let out a strangled cry, trying to breathe, trying to swim out of the trauma the childhood event brought her. Her green eyes filled with tears, and her skin, usually fair, paled an unusual white that she never bore unless too sick to move and function. 

Images flashed before her eyes, and she shook even more. 

Running into the house was her mother, her hair falling out of the neat bun. Jonathan, she screamed, she screamed for the girl's father. The child squirmed out of the firefighter's arms with all her might but could only scream and kick, the older man refusing to let go. Other firefighters tried to chase Elizabeth Meyer in, but it was no use as the house finally collapsed, erupting into more flames, more disaster, more doom. 

She let go of her throat and crumpled on the ground, hugging her knees and continuing to shake. Every single memory of that event was rushing in and out, like bees in a busy hive. The air was coming in and out now, filling and expanding her lungs as they worked hard to keep her alive. 

Her father, black-haired and blue-eyed, ever worried. 

Her mother, blonde-haired and green-eyed, full of joy. 

They both flashed before their daughter's eyes, expressions fleeting. Happy, sad, shocked, worried, exasperated, every emotion A had ever seen them express, they appeared. Finally, peaceful. They appeared peaceful in front of her, walking off. Elizabeth's white dress fluttered in the seemingly nonexistent breeze, as well as the cape of Jonathan's cloak. 

Like the other people in her life, they couldn't wait to leave. 

Traumatized, she was.