Specificity At It's Finest.

D I S C O V E R Y

I notice it first. A small, flickering orange flame near Ravyn's trash disposal bin. My eyes widen, and she sees my confusion. Glancing over to where it is, she lets out a gasp. I sit there, dazed and confused, while Ravyn desperately tries to put out the growing flame.

Where did it come from? I don't understand. We learned about fire in school, although the information was useless. No one in the nation can operate fires unless you are a high-ranking official. Only they knew the secrets of the dancing, flaming tongues of fire.

I look again down at my hands, which are multiple shades of red, orange, and some yellow. It almost looks like a flame.

Shocked, I stick my hands under my legs, onto Ravyn's sleeping space. Instantly, I feel a warm heat rising off of the surface. I stand up, quickly, just as Ravyn puts out the first flame. Now, the once white, unblemished coverings of the sleeping space give off a warm, burning scent as the thin sheet singes to a crisp.

Ravyn lets out a small screech and rushes over to start putting out the blossoming flower of fire. I run to the wall, pulling a moist towelette from the package attached to it, and try to pat down the flame.

"Blaise!" Ravyn yells. "You're making it worse!"

I step aside, and she puts out the flame in a matter of seconds. I glance down at my hands again, and they seem to be lighter shades of orange, and red. I touch them to the back parts of my legs, and they still give off small heat, but not enough to cause a spark.

Meanwhile, Ravyn's rambling on about something that I hadn't been paying attention to. There's a small, black smoking circle on her white coverings, and her once smooth, straight brown hair is slightly frizzy and poofy.

"Blaise, now I'm going to have to get new coverings from the Sector Capital. You know how long that takes!" Ravyn shouts.

"I-I'm sorry, Ray," I say quietly. "I didn't-"

"Where did that fire even come from?" Ravyn asks. "It just came out of nowhere.." She paces the room, and I picture the millions of gears turning in her head, searching for a solution to this utterly strange situation.

"Ray, I just-"

She cuts me off again. "No, you know what, this has been too odd of a day for the both of us, why don't you just go home?"

I look at her. She'd never say something like that unless she was really unhappy.

"Alright then. See you around, I guess." I pick up my bag, shove my rumpled application paper into it, and swing the shoulder strap on my shoulder. I open the door and walk down the stairs, not even bothering to wave to Rebecca.

☁    ☁    ☁

The ride home was pleasant. Although my hands stayed warm for quite some time, they eventually cooled down. The strangest part about the incident wasn't the fire or Ravyn's anger, but the fact that the heat, and color, of my hands, depended on the anger I was feeling. 

Reaching home, I hop over the fence and land with a thud. It's about noon, judging by the location of the sun in the sky, so Portia's probably off to work, and Father's probably out as well. It seems like I'll be alone today.

I open the back door, and slip inside. I plop my bag on the kitchen table, and head over to the fruit section of our kitchen. I pick up an apple and bite into the crisp, juicy fruit. I snatch up my letter to the Academy and sit down at the table. I pick up a pencil and focus on the first question. Then the second. And so forth.

It doesn't take long to fill out the application. I pick up my paper, holding it up in front of my face. Not too bad.

I walk to the back door, twisting the handle, and feeling the cool breeze hit my face. I walk to the post office instead of taking the pod. I don't really feel like seeing people, or talking to them.

My letter is folded neatly inside of a crisp, pearl colored envelope with only my writing on the top of it addressing it to the Academy. There aren't too many people in here at this time of the day. It's about 2:15, but I still feel uncomfortable. I guess one could call me antisocial, to some extent. I wait in line for the letter transporter. It's a small circular area that has a tube above it, which sucks up the waiting letter below.

The line moves up, and I'm second in line. The person ahead of me is a youth as well as me, however, he's male. A few inches taller than I am, and light brown hair ruffled as if the wind had styled it. Every piece of hair is wild, but it almost seems as it was meant to be that way.

He places down his letter, and I crane my neck to see who he's sending his to. Like me, he's also applying for the Academy. I guess it's somewhat interesting, but not that big of a deal considering almost every youth in the entire country is sending in his/her letter.

His letter gets sucked up into the tube, sent off elsewhere. He steps aside and smiles at me. The sudden show of kindness shocks me for a moment, until I remember to be kind back, and return a small smile. His eyes are a pale grey, but don't mirror the effect of the dull color. Instead, his eyes have hints of happiness in them, almost this distant happiness, that's almost there, but nearly out of reach.

He walks away, and I forget why I'm at the post office. Then I remember to place my letter down. But by the time I look back up, searching for the eyes of the mysterious boy, he's gone.

I walk outside, and there's a light breeze. Not chilling, just refreshing. I wonder where it came from.