Fire in the Streets
Saturday, April 29, 1916
Dublin, Ireland
He woke with a start, his face sticking to the cold tile beneath him. He could hear gunfire, but it was too far away to have woken him. He was used to that sound by now.
Levering himself into a sitting position, he listened intently, looking cautiously around the old drygoods store and wiping his running nose on his shirtsleeve. He had taken refuge behind the counter the night before, hoping that it would provide some refuge from the British troops that had been occupying the city since Tuesday.
There were no sounds to indicate other inhabitants in the building. He wondered still what had woken him and stood to look around. What he saw made him jump backwards against the wall.
The front window of the store had been shattered leaving shards of glass scattered across the floor. In the midst of the glittering mess lay what had broken the window: a firebrand, scorching the floor, and as he watched the flames spread across the floor through a puddle of spilled lamp oil to the bolts of fabric lining the wall and effectively blocking his way to the door. Shaking with fear, he vaulted the counter and ran out through the shattered window, feet crunching on the broken glass.
The street was shrouded in smoke. He coughed into his shirt as he looked around, eyes beginning to sting. A dark cloud hung over the city, columns of smoke rising into the sky. A lead weight dropped into his stomach and he began to make his way back toward his home, ducking into alleyways along the way to avoid the patrols of British troops.
The signs of destruction began to decrease as he made his way farther from the GPO and Moore Street. Pearce had moved the headquarters of the rebellion out of the post office, and he had been separated from his unit the day before in the confusion. Wandering until nightfall trying to find them, he had only the presence of mind to find somewhere to hole up before falling into an exhausted slumber.
Now he looked for his family. All around him, he could hear the screams of the dying through broken windowpanes. In a few places, fallen buildings blocked the streets and he was forced to back track and find a way around. After what seemed like an age, he was back in truly familiar territory. The smoke in this part of the city was dark enough to hide the tops of the buildings from his view and was getting darker as he traveled down his home street towards the building he had left his beloved wife and infant daughter on just days before.
He could feel the heat of flames as he drew nearer, and turned to retch when he saw the building he had shared with his family and friends dyed a sickly yellow-orange. A woman's shriek of terror made him look upwards through he smoke. He could just make out the figure of his wife leaning out of their window, holding a bundle of blankets tightly to her chest.
Without another thought, he bolted inside the building and up the stairs. He made it to the second story landing before his path was blocked. The second set of stairs was aflame. Preparing himself, he tried to run through the fire, taking the stairs two at a time. He had nearly made it to the top when a step gave out beneath him. He fell through he wood to the first floor and rolled out of the way only just in time to miss the rest of the steps falling in as well.
"No!" he screamed in frustration, stumbling back out through the door and struggling to breathe. He looked back up through the smoke towards the window. He saw a brief glimpse of his wife before another sickening crash shook the building and she screamed and fell out of sight. He ran back towards the door, but a tremor shook the pavement and the walls crumbled as he watched, cutting her scream off.
He found himself on his knees in the middle of the street, starring at the still-burning remains of his home. Struggling to his feet, he flung himself at the rubble, trying to move the brick and wood to find his family. He ignored the scrapes, cuts and burns until the blood on his hands made the wreckage impossible to shift. Then all he could do was weep.
When he had no tears left, when he had purged all the sorrow that his body would allow, he looked down at his ruined hands. The rebellion was in shambles, Dublin was burning, and he had lost the family for whose freedom he had been fighting. These hands had helped bring this end.
Again, he struggled to stand. He staggered away from his home and wandered the streets for what seemed like hours, oblivious to the world around him, eyes stinging from tears and smoke. Distantly he could hear someone yelling. Forcing his eyes to focus, he recognized the edge of the British patrol around the rebellion's headquarters. He stood there, blinking stupidly at the soldier who was yelling and waving his rifle.
Suddenly he was on the ground, pain blossoming in his chest and head ringing from the impact with the ground. His hearing had become preternaturally clear. He could hear footsteps and people speaking. As his vision faded, a louder voice rang out, cutting through the chatter.
"Pearce surrendered! The rebellion has ended!"
Dublin, Ireland
He woke with a start, his face sticking to the cold tile beneath him. He could hear gunfire, but it was too far away to have woken him. He was used to that sound by now.
Levering himself into a sitting position, he listened intently, looking cautiously around the old drygoods store and wiping his running nose on his shirtsleeve. He had taken refuge behind the counter the night before, hoping that it would provide some refuge from the British troops that had been occupying the city since Tuesday.
There were no sounds to indicate other inhabitants in the building. He wondered still what had woken him and stood to look around. What he saw made him jump backwards against the wall.
The front window of the store had been shattered leaving shards of glass scattered across the floor. In the midst of the glittering mess lay what had broken the window: a firebrand, scorching the floor, and as he watched the flames spread across the floor through a puddle of spilled lamp oil to the bolts of fabric lining the wall and effectively blocking his way to the door. Shaking with fear, he vaulted the counter and ran out through the shattered window, feet crunching on the broken glass.
The street was shrouded in smoke. He coughed into his shirt as he looked around, eyes beginning to sting. A dark cloud hung over the city, columns of smoke rising into the sky. A lead weight dropped into his stomach and he began to make his way back toward his home, ducking into alleyways along the way to avoid the patrols of British troops.
The signs of destruction began to decrease as he made his way farther from the GPO and Moore Street. Pearce had moved the headquarters of the rebellion out of the post office, and he had been separated from his unit the day before in the confusion. Wandering until nightfall trying to find them, he had only the presence of mind to find somewhere to hole up before falling into an exhausted slumber.
Now he looked for his family. All around him, he could hear the screams of the dying through broken windowpanes. In a few places, fallen buildings blocked the streets and he was forced to back track and find a way around. After what seemed like an age, he was back in truly familiar territory. The smoke in this part of the city was dark enough to hide the tops of the buildings from his view and was getting darker as he traveled down his home street towards the building he had left his beloved wife and infant daughter on just days before.
He could feel the heat of flames as he drew nearer, and turned to retch when he saw the building he had shared with his family and friends dyed a sickly yellow-orange. A woman's shriek of terror made him look upwards through he smoke. He could just make out the figure of his wife leaning out of their window, holding a bundle of blankets tightly to her chest.
Without another thought, he bolted inside the building and up the stairs. He made it to the second story landing before his path was blocked. The second set of stairs was aflame. Preparing himself, he tried to run through the fire, taking the stairs two at a time. He had nearly made it to the top when a step gave out beneath him. He fell through he wood to the first floor and rolled out of the way only just in time to miss the rest of the steps falling in as well.
"No!" he screamed in frustration, stumbling back out through the door and struggling to breathe. He looked back up through the smoke towards the window. He saw a brief glimpse of his wife before another sickening crash shook the building and she screamed and fell out of sight. He ran back towards the door, but a tremor shook the pavement and the walls crumbled as he watched, cutting her scream off.
He found himself on his knees in the middle of the street, starring at the still-burning remains of his home. Struggling to his feet, he flung himself at the rubble, trying to move the brick and wood to find his family. He ignored the scrapes, cuts and burns until the blood on his hands made the wreckage impossible to shift. Then all he could do was weep.
When he had no tears left, when he had purged all the sorrow that his body would allow, he looked down at his ruined hands. The rebellion was in shambles, Dublin was burning, and he had lost the family for whose freedom he had been fighting. These hands had helped bring this end.
Again, he struggled to stand. He staggered away from his home and wandered the streets for what seemed like hours, oblivious to the world around him, eyes stinging from tears and smoke. Distantly he could hear someone yelling. Forcing his eyes to focus, he recognized the edge of the British patrol around the rebellion's headquarters. He stood there, blinking stupidly at the soldier who was yelling and waving his rifle.
Suddenly he was on the ground, pain blossoming in his chest and head ringing from the impact with the ground. His hearing had become preternaturally clear. He could hear footsteps and people speaking. As his vision faded, a louder voice rang out, cutting through the chatter.
"Pearce surrendered! The rebellion has ended!"
