Exceptional

The Fire

        Okay, to start, my parents are dead. Since my eighth birthday, they've been gone. Sure, I could lie to you, and tell you an uplifting fantasy about how I had a perfect childhood. It wouldn't be true, but I could. This is just a story, but I would like it to be a true one.

        The odd thing is, I have no idea how they died. All the doctors have tried to get me to remember, but I can't. Or won't. Honestly, if your parents died, would you like to remember all the details, or would you rather dream up a better end for the people you loved so much? That's what I thought. All I know about what happened that day is that my mom, my dad, and Caroline, my sister, and I had all got out to a picnic at the park. It was a warm and quiet June day in the middle of a summer drought, and there weren't any people around. Then something happened. I remember pain, searing through my body. Pain I will never forget, since it left scars as reminders, winding up and down the right side of my body. The night passed before I was found by more picnickers in a charred and bloody heap. The only explanation that the police can give is that there must have been a fire from the dry grass. All of the policemen were shocked to lose my father- he had been their chief of police.

        Nobody in my family made it, not even my little baby sister. Only me. It's a heavy burden to bear, to lose all your loved ones all ot once. You never feel so alone in the world. You keep trying to blame yourself in some way, even if you had nothing to do with anything that happened. It's impossible to describe these feelings to someone who hasn't ever felt the same way before. The only reason I'm trying to communicate these emotions I felt, emotions I still feel, is to let other people who have felt the same way know that they are not alone. They are never completely alone.

        After I was released from hospital, I moved in with an uncle I had never met before in my life. He was'nt the worst guardian ever... He drank a lot, and would sometimes leave for extended periods of time to go out partying and probably go boozeing some more. I learned quickly what alcohol smelled like, so I could always stay out of his way when he'd had one too many. God, he would get so violent and loud when he drank! He wasn't much better sober either. We never seemed to have a decent conversation, but neither one of us minded. He kicked me out the day I turned sixteen, with only enough money for rent, food, and tuition. I guess that was the only kind thing he did for me, was getting me into that school. I write this in retrospect, of course. At the time, I thought he was just being a bloody git as normal.

        That school sure seemed interesting, though. It was a school especially for the Exceptionals, the ones with otherworldly powers. Oh yeah. Haven't mentioned that yet, have I? I haven't written a book before, so forgive me with this 'order of importance' type stuff! Er, not really much to say! I inherited my gift from my father, who could control fire. Only slightly, though, just enough to light a candle or send some sparks shooting into the fireplace. The doctors were never able to explain how I became so much stronger. I could send blasts of flame through walls, floors, everything! I could even melt metal! Everyone wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream. Here was this puny little eight-year-old kid, shooting fire that could murder dozens! The most popular theory is that I inherited my dad's gift of sparks and small fires, but the the huge fire that killed my family and nearly took me too left a mark on my psyche, enhancing my ability by thousands. Seemed pretty legit to me, but that's probably just because I was too dumb to think up any better reason.

        So the school. Yeah, the school. Gosh, where to begin! At the time, I thought he was just being his normal, inconsiderate self. All the Exceptionals want to do is fit in! Why ship them off to this school in the middle of Perthshire (I'd never even been to Scotland!) and leave them to rot? But the money had already been paid in advance. I would leave in August, since the private school schedule always seems to be screwed up, one way or another. I'd been held back a year, due to the psychological trauma that was caused by the fire, so I was ready to start my sophomore year. The school only seems to have tenth grade up, so would I be a freshman? I- I don't- know- you know what I mean.

        I suppose that sums up the list of things I lost, or, some may say, found in the fire. Strange, sometimes, to think- these aren't just memories. These are days, bits of time, bits of life. I will never re-live those days again. The days when I would look forward in hope, rather than the present where I look backward in regret. But in the end, those days make up a life, my life. And I wouldn't trade that for the world. Well, what's left of it.