Super Shorts

FireStorm

Perry Mathews woke from a dream in a cold sweat early that morning, waking his wife of three years.

"What is it Perry?" She asked groggily as he perched on the side of the bed. His breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Just a bad dream. That's all." He got up and moved to the mirror that hung above a low oak wood dresser. For the next ten minutes he stood at the mirror. His wife eventually fell asleep again, and he stood there, staring at himself until he knew he was still the same. His stark blue eyes stared back as opposed to the burning orange that had haunted his dream.

Four hours later he was off for work. Being a bank teller wasn't so hard. Sit there and help people deposit or withdraw money, every so often someone wanted something more and that was where his college degree came in. It payed well and was mildly enjoyable, and in his six years at the bank there had never been a robbery. When he walked in to work he never suspected it would happen, but today had already been abnormal.

Six black clad men carrying an assortment of weaponry that included shotguns, assault rifles, and grenades, walked in and one shouted, "Everyone on the floor! Except for employees, you put your hands above the counter.

Everyone complied, and Perry found himself standing behind his booth with hands in the air. One of the men approached and shoved a duffel bag at him. "Fill it." He commanded and pointed a gun at his head.

Something inside Perry stirred. "No." His answer was not what the other man wanted to hear, and when he pulled the trigger; the thing inside him reached out in the split second it took for the criminal to pull the trigger. The gun exploded in the man's face, setting his front ablaze. He screamed and stumbled away before falling to the ground.

Perry watched this in fascination. Never before had he seen something so beautiful, so hungry, so mysterious. The flames continued to burn despite the man's every effort to put them out. Perry climbed over his counter to watch. As he stared in wonder a shuffling behind him brought his attention to the other five who were now pointing all their weapons at him. Instead of panicking he watched them shuffle uncertainly. It was clear they no longer trusted their guns. This became more clear when one pulled a grenade from his belt. Dropping the gun he pulled the pin and rolled it at Perry.

Everyone had forgotten their fear of the men and ran for whatever cover they could see, as did the robbers. Instead of fleeing, instinct told Perry to move away slightly. The moment it detonated the fire engulfed him, but nothing happened and any shrapnel that survived the heat lacerated Perry's body. The wounds were quickly healed as flames licked across his skin.

When he lost interest in the fire dancing across his skin without consequence, he saw the remains of the bank. The roof had a hole that looked like a meteor took it out and the pristine white tile floor was now half melted. The counter where he stood behind was reduced to nothing more than ash, and nothing stirred behind it. Everyone who had sought safety had not found it. The fire should have killed him but he was still alive, in fact it had healed him. He stumbled towards an exit through the burning ceiling that had fallen into the soft tile. The glass door hadn't been completely obliterated by the explosion seeking an escape and shards littered the ground outside. What he saw in them made him stop.

The man with burning orange eyes stared back, his hair, pure fire, waved in the slight breeze.