Maris woke with a start. What had alerted her; a noise, a smell but it didn’t matter, she had to move quickly.
Tears ran down her face from her smarting eyes and wheezing, her chest heaving with each breath of thick air, she slid to the floor and crawled on her belly hoping she wasn’t disoriented and the door was in the direction she was going.
On the verge of collapse she felt hands lifting her, into the air, over a shoulder.
Fresh air assaulted her and hungrily she drank it in.
From the position she lay on the grass she stared at the blackened remains of her house thinking ‘better a new start than a dead start.’
In response to Zoe’s prompt start for six line stories.