Blind Fear, by Adam Smith

Emily knew every inch of her home, but from the floor it was like an alien landscape. She turned left, not knowing that she was moving farther into the house. Her knees were bloody and sore and her lungs felt raw; the thick black smoke was acidic, acrid. She turned right, then left again. All sounds blended into a maniacal cacophony of sirens, shouts and roaring. Someone stepped on her hand and she screamed. She was pulled across the porch and onto the front lawn and she could hear her mother yelling, “She’s blind and she hasn’t come out yet!”