The match burned steadily, flickering in the moonlight. I hovered my index finger over the flame, watching the light flicker and dance against my tender skin. The heat radiated off of the match and I dipped my fingers into the flame. The familiar sensation of a tingly numbness set in and I removed my finger as the skin bubbled and blistered around the afflicted area. The red, shiny wound was simply a blemish on already imperfect skin. Similar marks scattered about my once soft and porcelain flesh remind me of what an anomaly I am. The burns were mild, but the pain was unrecognizable. Marred beneath the tender bits of skin, lies another problem of its own, eating its way through me. As if it was a leech, the Dark gnawed away at me, eating me from the inside out. The blemishes marking my once perfect skin are only bits of evidence that prove this theory correct. My eyes were starting to water as the smoke began to rise. I pressed the hot tip to my forearm once more before blowing the minuscule flame away into the air while the smoke made whispy little trails to the ceiling. I tossed the burnt match into the trash and examined the newer burns. The damaged skin was fresh and exhilirating.
I was a pyromaniac.
The cutting had stopped long ago, but it wasn't so much time before I preyed upon a new sport. Something larger than bleeding skin and scabbing arms. The burns were numbing now. If you've been burned once you've been burned a thousand times. It started slow, a ncie little warming of my hands, before I experimented with the heat, the desire and hate in my heart exuding to the burning of my arms.
White scars lined the previously scalded areas of my body. I felt sickeningly pleased with my handiwork, rolled down my sleeves, and continued my day.
I knew rhat no matter what I always had control over one thing.
Let the flames begin
A/N: :)
