Hells Flame

{1}

I was running in the gym. I felt myself heat up. Running usually made me heat up. In a literal sense. I was stuck in the girls gymnasium. Due to me being genetically a girl. With girlish features. I had to be stuck with a horrid girl bitching classroom. There was the main girls who stuck together in short short gym shorts and a short sleeved shirt with long ass pony tails always hitting me in the face as I lapped them for a millionth time.Then there was me who didn't prefer any gender. And wore baggy gym shorts and a long sleeve shirt. "Hey DYKE" one of them shouted from other side of the gym. I looked at them. Ready to throw a running punch straight into their freaking faces. I lapped up to them. " You're just so scared I'd take you're boyfriends that you think I only like girls" I said. They looked awfully offended. Point to me. One of them was ready to bitch slap me and raised her hand. I grabbed it. And the burning tingly feeling reached out of my hand and hit her own skin. She shrieked. And jumped back. I looked at her, half in horror but a little in pride. Then the overprotective male coach Mr. Peterson blew his old fashioned whistle. And broke things up. I knew I was totally screwed now cause I had my expectations that he was screwing some of these girls in this group and chose them as favorites. " JENNI FOIARD PRINCIPLES OFFICE NOW" he shouted even though I was only a few feet in front of him. " sure thing " I said jogging my way out. I knew I wouldn't win this battle. No matter how many burning I had to do. That guy was stubborn as hell.

As I left and walked out into the halls kids stared. I was the kid with anger issues they were probably afraid I would explode on them. Probably right if they messed with me enough.   I headed to the main office.  Explained what happened minus the burning. And was told I was gonna be expelled if I got into another fight and that I should go home for the day and that they would be calling my mom and telling her what happened.
-

"Your a hell fire" mom said crossing her arms as I yet again have burned another rug. I'm sighed trying to keep my breathing under control. As Patrick Yang my anger management teacher always said 'breath and count to ten'. Same shitty things all of my therapists said.

'1....2....3...4...5' I thought to myself. Mom had began her pacing. She occasionally looked at the straight line of charred up rug from my own angry pacing, And threw her hands up in the air a couple times. This was our eighth rug in our old farm house we got a couple months ago. " J , Hun I can't keep this up we only get so much money" I counted a couple more times, all the way to thirty. She used this line to many times and it was starting to get old. "What even happened this time?" She stated a new sense of approach to this argument.

"A kid called my a dyke." I stated taking a seat next to my mom, she sat down awhile after I had finally counted to a hundred. I hated telling mom my accidents. Which usually made strange occurrences around me. Things heated up... In again in a literal sense. See I'm not the average kid. From age six when I had long hair that reach my butt, strange things happened, let's just say you didn't want to make me angry, or my hair would erupt into a gigantic flame. I always had my hair short since then, along with burning people's hands and of course burning tons of rugs. My mom and me had always been on our own, ever since dad left my mom when she had me. I never heard from him, not even on the holidays. We also didn't have to worry about extended family visits from his side of the family, they all vanished too.

The hard part was learning not to erupt in flames or have anything strange happen when I was around my moms family, but we moved around a lot due to my outbursts. We were on the run. Escaping from any kind of press action. " Hun, you can't burn their hand if they call you names. And you need proper schooling. Do I need to talk to Patrick again? See you into more classes?-" This was my turn to get angry. "-and tell him what? I can shoot flames out of my fingertips and burn people? I can't tell him the whole truth if I tried, and anyways he's a shitty counselor!" " J you're burning the rug again, and I'm just trying to help. You have to know how hard this on me too, how I can't help" she said reaching out for my arm. She yelped in pain recoiling her hand.

That was her mistake, I didn't mean to , I would never hurt her even during one of our arguments. I stared at her in shock. A million thoughts came through my head.... I hurt her. " Mom I'm sorry, I'll talk to Patrick! I'll do anything you want!" She looked at me the way like I was the physically hurt one. I realized tears started to run down my eyes but evaporated as the rolled down my cheek. " it's fine J I'll see what I can do about what the school says about it tomorrow. Hopefully we don't have to move" she said it but it only made me feel worse about the situation. I was the reason we kept moving.

" I'm sorry..." I said admitting my mistake. She stared at me in shock. I never really said sorry. I was a wild child, a hell fire as my mom always stated. " J , don't worry to much. It's okay I'll tell you when to worry" she said running her hands through my short pink hair.  It was her usual catchphrase to tell me when to worry.
Then a knock came on the door. ' An angry parent come to roast my mom on her bad parenting?' I thought. Mom got up and I still sat on the couch. Trying to keep my cool, as if I had any. Pun intended. Instead when I turned to catch a look at who was at the door. A man stood there, mom was speaking in hushed tones with him. Curse my bad ears . I knew not to come to the door. 'Being less in public the better' mom had always said, but I got up anyways. Trying to sound casual I came up to mom " Hey who is it? " I asked. Instead mom didn't answer.... And a man who looked an awful lot like me answered.
"Hey kiddo"