A Foreigner’s Tale, Book 1
A Mortal Kombat Fan Fiction
Rated T for violence, language, suggestive themes and potentially disturbing imagery
Prologue: The Escape

When I was younger – right around sixteen years old – I lived contently, quietly – for all intents and purposes, ‘normal.’ I was happy, energetic and naïve. I rarely thought of death outside of my most recent obsession.

I’d shifted interests all my life, but they mostly rested within video games. This most recent one was Mortal Kombat.

At least, that's how it was depicted in my world.

I rarely thought of death, and yet this series provided so much that it almost, in some strange ironic twist, became a part of life.

So when I myself stared death in the face… I’d never thought that my latest interest would count for anything – in fact, if anything, I thought it would augment my chances of going to hell.

But I was pretty much already there when the time came…

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“Oh, my God, I hate you.”

“I love you, too, Mikomi dear,” I purred innocently.

I could not hold back a laugh as my friend sighed in oh-so false exasperation. “Bye.”

“Bye!” I chirped. I took the thin dark gray cell phone off my ear and watched as the screen signaled:

Call Ended
0:47:18

I looked up to my almost dark bedroom, with the closet door closed and my laptop, which I had affectionately dubbed “Presario,” staring into the supposed abyss with a bright backlight.

I glanced at the clock on the corner of the screen. 2:18 AM. I looked at the little Pikachu clock I kept on a shelf above my desk. Around… 2:13 AM or so, it read. The thing was always a few minutes slow.

Either way, I figured it was high time I hit the hay.

So off went the laptop and the cell phone. I covered the light of my alarm clock with a little Zubat plush and I arranged my bed, straightening the covers in a certain order.

However, when I went to unplug Presario, I couldn’t help but think that it was a bit… warmer than normal, even with a small space heater working. I thought I heard a strange and constant noise beyond my bedroom door. And… wait. …Was it me, or was the crack beneath the door… glowing? I felt a small distress begin to creep through my stomach.

Then I heard a new sound – a constant beeping.

Fearfully, I placed a slightly trembling hand on the doorknob and jerked it right back.

It was already alarmingly hot.

I panted as I realized what was going on.

The house had caught fire… and judging by the temperature of the doorknob… it was in front of my room.

I was more or less trapped.

I didn’t know what to do. I remained frozen in absolute fear for several excruciating moments, and I knew that the longer I deliberated, the more the blaze would spread.

Hell waits for no one.

Move, stupid, move! I told myself. Do something or else!

I’d already deliberated several times over what one thing I would take with me should the house catch fire, and I reached to my desk for it – a small black memory stick – 2 gigabytes of memory, a Cruzer Micro, simply nicknamed “The Stick.” However, my cell phone was still in my hand. I decided to take it with me, since I already had it. Both devices were jammed into the pocket on my nightrobe.

Then, I leaned down for a moment, jerking the switch on the space heater to its ‘off’ position. It was more than warm enough.

I stared at the wall behind it and flinched. Mami, Papi and my younger brother! They were all in the room next door!

I looked at my doorframe. To my horror, small flames already fingered the carpet beyond the door border.

Knowing of nothing else to do, I pounded on the wall five times. If I was loud enough, they would hear me through it.

“Mami! Papi! There’s a fire! Wake up!” I slammed my fist to the wall three more times, three small booms of my fearful thunder. “Help!” I squealed. I wanted to regret that last cry as soon as I uttered it. In retrospect, I do.

Then I heard a deep, panicked voice – unmistakably my father. He was calling me, his trapped and cornered daughter.

My throat tightened, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I could die here, but if I survived, I knew that I would be overwhelmed and smothered with excessive sentiment and overprotection for nigh on several years.

Frankly, I didn’t want it.

I just wanted all of us to get out alive, but, looking at the growing fire at my door, my chances were lessening – and rapidly. Too quickly… Oh, God…

The flames began to eat away at my door. My father’s voice grew fainter – he, too, was backing away.

“Papi!” I screamed at the top of my voice. “Go outside! I’m going to the window!”

I wasn’t sure if he heard me. He just called my name again.

“I’m going to the window!” I yowled again. “Go outside! Don’t worry about me until I’m out!”

I knew that he would worry about me and more than anything – with all rights, too! With his wife and son, my mother and brother, safe outside the house, the only thing he lacked was me, his first and only daughter, and the most precious young girl in his life. “Don’t worry.”  What a silly thing to say.  Foolish, even. I didn’t even stop to listen, to see if he was still there. I just turned and dashed to my window.

It was only slightly cooler where I was, and in panic, I yanked the blinds open, tossed up the glass… but how the hell was I going to open the screen!?

My gaze darted. There didn’t seem to be anything under the piano to my left, nor near the mushroom chair and ottoman next to me that would help.

But by some stroke of luck, I glimpsed a pair of large scissors on the bookcase to my right. The most effective pair in the whole house, no less.

Without a second thought, I swiped them off the case and gripped it firmly, point away from me – much like a combat knife.

I stabbed once, and the necessary rip was made! Encouraged, I stabbed once more, away from the first mark.

Then, I stopped. Why couldn’t I just cut around the edge, let the screen fall and be done with it?

I decided to try, using the first mark as my starting point, and, with some difficulty, I began my laborious trim. I shoved and yanked the scissors around, but when I reached the frame, I heard a significant ‘pop!’

I let out a frightened noise, and whipped around. The flames crept ever closer, and dark smoke began to fill the room. Just beyond the limits of the blaze, I could see the space heater, on its side and broken in an undistinguishable place. It had made the noise.

Admittedly, my heart sank as I stood rigid for several soundless heartbeats and stared at Presario, with fire lapping it and the many trinkets and papers that surrounded it. My closet would surely be consumed. Soon it would dance across my dressers, with all my plushes – most of them Pokémon, notably – and gnaw at my headboard before marking the rest of my bed with its malicious ash.

Whether I lived or died, I was watching my life burn away. The greatest story I’d known, before this one, the one I tell now… because I was its center, its subject.

Now all the artifacts and documents would die.

I shook my head once when I found myself struggling a bit to breathe, a firm refusal to let material sentiment get the best of me. The smoke was crawling and the fire was advancing a bit too rapidly for my liking.

I turned back to my window again and quickly decided that a proper cut would take too long. I’d have to rip it if I was going to make an escape hole.

It just sucked a little bit that my room was on the highest of three stories.

Nevertheless, I gripped the frayed end and tore with all my might. Much to my delight, or whatever of it I could muster at the time, it was coming off, flinging away from its frame as my desperate yanking continued. I could hear Presario make a demented noise, and I knew my computer was succumbing to the disaster.

Then, by some miracle, it was out. I flung the black mesh into the hungry burn behind me, not daring to look. At the time, I wondered if I should have just let it drift down the window. Nowadays, I believe I was just giving the flames a sacrifice, however small, for I refused to let them have me.

They could take anything but me!

I poked my head out the window, and plumes of smoke began to drift by my head. I wondered, vaguely, how I was able to get myself to this point without proper and full breath. I looked up. The stained air was blocking my view, but I could glimpse some stars beyond the shadows of the trees. My heart swelled with some sort of hope, probably the kind that victims feel, as I stared.

I was never religious – I claimed I only acknowledged the existence of the Holy Trinity, even though I was born and raised a Roman Catholic. Instead, I thought of the Elder Gods. I was already using their name in exclamations – “By the Elder Gods” was a favorite phrase of mine – but I knew that in the end, it was God or nobody. Or so the preachers claimed.

But in that moment, I felt closer to them than anything else. I suppose I should have considered that more thoroughly.

Then, I became aware of a burst of heat. My heart jumped.

I dared to turn…

I could not suppress a short scream. It was too close, far too close… My bed was completely aflame, and my dressers were almost the same. Then, it would jump to the bookcase… and right to me!

Nothing in this world could prepare me for this.

I turned back and saw the dark sky, my only chance of escape…

I coughed. I swore a bit. I almost wanted to cry. I felt weak, nauseous, delirious, hot, numb… the list could go on.

I looked back one more time. The flames were right beside me, readying their final leap.

I rushed to take mine.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t jump – my window was too small for that. Instead, I hoisted one leg out, then the other, and I maneuvered my head so that I nearly sat on my windowsill.

But I was a terrible balancer, and so if I was going to fall, so be it! I’d heal.

Even though it’d be painful.

I glanced away from the fire for the last time and focused on the stars.

Behind me, the melting Presario gave a loud, distressful wail.

My friends flashed through my mind, and I could see my family, anxious and huddled on the driveway, wondering if I was still inside or if I’d found a way out…

I fell.

Everything slowed…

I hit the ground, back first, with a terrible, quick series of snaps and cracks. There was no way in hell I could contain a howl of pain.

There was a series of little cries – did I really sound like that? – and all I could see was the silhouette of our roof, the flames ripping at the windowsill, the smoke swimming towards the sky… and the ethereal shine of distant stars.

My vision grew darker at the edges. I was probably going to pass out.

So long as I didn’t die… my family would be tremendously grateful.

Just for them…

I shut my eyes. Then, there was nothing.

I was rather content at that.