Flames

Where I Actually Start Talking About What's Happening at the Moment

I walked down the street to my humble abode, usual blank look on my face as I played with matches. I flicked a match out of my matchbox along the striking surface, watching the small flame start taking up the wood of the match. It got close to my fingers and I blew it out, throwing the unlit match on the ground. I opened the box again, getting out another match. It had rained for a few days recently, and the sidewalk was very wet for it not having rained all day. 

I heard feet on the sidewalk behind me, but it wasn’t unusual for some people to walk this way sometimes, it was a direct way to the mall. 

The footsteps sped up, and two freshmen about my height bumped into me knocking my matches to the ground. They turned around, blocking the sidewalk. I bent down to pick up my matches, and when I had all of them I stood back up, still a blank look on my face. 

“What are you doing, freak?” The one on the right said, knocking my matches to the ground a snapping them all in the box. 

“Move please.” I said looking at the box on the ground. 

“What if we say no?”

I stayed silent, walking onto the grass around the sidewalk. The one on the left pushed me to the ground, getting me wet and muddy. 

“Stop.” I said getting up and trying to walk past them. The one on the right slapped me across the face, knocking me to the ground. My lip was bleeding, and I got up, pulling my lighter out of my pocket. 

“Go away. I will not hesitate if you hit me again.” I licked my bleeding lip, the pain not being felt, being replaced by adrenaline. I flicked the lighter on and held it in front of me, “Tell that bitch hurting me won’t work. I’m not leaving, not unless I want to, and at the moment I don’t. She can’t make me leave.” I spit the slight amount of blood in my mouth at them. “Now be a good little lapdog, and fuck off.” I moved the lighter closer to them and they ran to one of the few cars on the side of the street in front of me. I memorized the license plate as they drove off. It’s HU83SP, if you were wondering. 

They were gone, and I would have a sore lip for a few days. I would walk home, then I would listen to Green Day in my room. Looking out the windows and flicking my lighter on some old caramel in a tin, warming it. I would come home with bruises on me frequently, but they would never attack me when I was walking home, and the injuries would rarely be on my face. 

“She must be desperate.” I said to myself, “Prepare for the worst.” 

I frowned, looking out to a rain starting to fall. My mother walked in, “I’m sorry that happened to you sweetheart.”

“I’m fine mom.”

“Are you sure honey?”

“My lip hurts, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Should I call the school?”

“No, I’m okay.” 

She left my room, and I put away my lighter, and fell onto my bed. I turned onto my back, and just layed there. Loneliness was a given, tears would rarely happen. Crying wasn’t my thing, weakness wasn’t my thing, lies were common. Lies were my way of not getting caught, and its what I had to do.