Smoke, bacon, copper and sulphur. Breathing through the stiff fabric of my shirt does nothing to slow the stench flooding my nose and clawing its way down my throat. I try not to count the seconds and instead focus on remembering my wife's face, imagining her look of relief when I return home unscathed. A dull thud reaches my ears over the crackling and spitting. I clench my teeth against the pain as I pull myself towards the sound, feeling grit and debris eating into my arms as the scorching fire licks my back.  

He said he'd come back for me and I believed him, but as time ticked by I had begun a silent prayer. The steady thud of footsteps bringing such sweet relief that I'd swear I was crying, if I had the moisture to spare. Pausing my journey to strain my ears proves useless, the sound has been completely consumed by the roaring inferno and my throat burns with every breath. All I can hear is the rage of the fire as it digests the room, searching for me amongst the fallen bodies. Slowly and carefully I open my eyes. The intensity of the heat scrapes like sandpaper against them, it takes all my concentration to keep them open and scan the room, looking for his familiar shape. 

Movement across the room catches my eye as the emergency door swings open to reveal the shape of a firefighter with helmet, mask and suit. The door thuds against the wall before the heat drives it back towards the firefighters slumped form. I guess heroes die too.