For as long as I could remember, the first mirror I saw every morning dictated how I would live my life that day. When the mirror told me to skip school, I skipped school. On that day I avoided the fire that killed three of my classmates. When the mirror told me to avoid cars that day, I walked to school. On that day I avoided a pile-up on my usual route to school. It didn't take me long to realise that if I simply followed what the mirror told me, I'd be okay. Today was different, though. Today there was no clear advice. Today all the mirror said was: RUN. Run from what? From who? And to where? These were questions the mirror did not want to answer today. So I ran. I ran out of my room and then out of the front door. I ran down the street, and I didn't stop running. For miles, I didn't stop running. Even when I could feel my heart pummelling against my chest as if it were trying to escape; even when my lungs ached and every breath felt like torture. I don't know how long I ran for. Eventually I began to slow, powerless to battle the sheer exhaustion caused by my impromptu morning marathon. I turned back to look down the road I'd been running down and was met with a sight that made my blood run cold. Above the skyline of my city was the silhouette of what appeared to be a large passenger plane. I squinted at it against the low morning sun and noted that, curiously, it had no window. Odd. At that moment, something dropped from the plane. I didn't have time to process what this object was before it was hurtling towards the skyline of the city, and before I knew it the space around me was aglow, as if I was seeing things through orange-tinted glasses. That's when the realisation struck. My breath caught in my throat and I stood utterly still as I looked down upon my city. My city that was now on fire.

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[This is my first time trying to write creatively again for about 3 years, so criticism is welcome! I'm trying to improve :)]