Cosmic Confluence

Chapter 9: confessions of a pyromanic

Deep down I think I always knew it spread from person to person. For some stupid reason I guess I just thought you had be, I don't know, "the chosen one" or some shit like that. Who knows? I fucking didn't. However, I still had clues and a tablespoon of logic left in a drawer of my brain.

I had a strong feeling as to who was next.

It made perfect sense that Kenzie was next in line for an otherworldly intrusion. After what had happened to Elijah's best friend, I could only assume something would happen to mine too. I hoped that didn't mean her face would be gone tomorrow morning. And now that I thought about it, I probably wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.

As I packed my bag, I pondered why The Man with Long Teeth made contact with Jaymie before Kenzie. I wasn't as close with Jaymie as I was with Kenzie, so what other reason was there? My head began to hurt trying to figure it out, which wasn't very unusual since this was the typical reaction whenever I tried to find an answer for this crazy shit. But this time I got angry. I felt fed up with not knowing what the fuck was happening. My poor friends were probably going to die because I couldn't figure it out. And the fact that I may never really know what was going on, made me really pissed off at that moment.

I didn't have too much control over what I felt once the emotion overtook me. That being said, without hardly even thinking I swiped a book from it's shelf and chucked it across my room, it's hard cover sounding like it dented the wall. I dug my nails in my palm and grit my teeth because— fuck— it all felt so out of my control. I can't stop him, he'll kill everything I love, he'll kill me, and I'll have died without ever knowing what the fuck even happened. Wouldn't that be fucked up? Wouldn't that be so fucked up if you died from something that fucked up your whole life before killing you and by the end you still wouldn't know why. It would be, it really would.

I wasn't going to cry, but I think I could've if I wanted to. Realizing I needed to calm all the way down before seeing Kenzie, I decided to resort to another one of my coping mechanisms. This time it wasn't drawing, because drawing right after being angry usually only made me more angry.

Instead, it was fire.

Now hear me out, this didn't mean I was going to start a huge bonfire in my backyard that I'd dance around, pretending I didn't have a care in the world. As great as that sounded, the routine I went through to keep me sane was a little more subtle. Some people might argue that what I did would only be making my mental health worse and not the other way around. But to me, it really wasn't. I even think if I was restricted from easing myself with fire, I may eventually start to McFreakin loose it to some degree.

I chose a lighter from the dozen I had collected, then watched as the sparks burst from the first flicker. The flame was smooth and warm, swaying from the slightest change in air. I tipped it to meet the wick of a pine scented candle so the lighter fluid could rest. And I just sat there, focusing on nothing but the fire. The wick when ablaze was like a glowing rash.

Mesmerizing as always.

Soon enough my heart felt heavy and comforted. All it was, was the rapid oxidation of a material in the exothermic chemical process of combustion, releasing heat and light. But still, I felt like it had a soul in the same way some people felt toys did.

And if I had to tell the truth, I was a little in love.

I know that sounds weird and creepy and I had a shot on being on TLC. However, this feeling mostly came in phases, so I don't think I was that much of a weirdo in comparison to people who were on 'my strange addiction'. Still, I was aware it was pretty strange.

Maybe you disagree, because maybe it's normal to feel a deep connection with a chemical reaction. After all, it is something that makes us human. An animal flees from fire while we have always been drawn to it. 

With the flame beckoning to me, tempting me with unspoken and moving poetry, I understood it wanted to feed.

Another point I'd like to make is that I didn't hate myself. That was just something I felt like I needed to say before describing what I did next.

An un-explainable desire overcame me as I let my impulses run free, taking the long candle I got from being confirmed at church and igniting it. Then with slight hesitation, I put the flame out by stubbing it into my forearm.

It fucking hurt, won't pretend I was some hardcore punk wannabe that would claim "that they were used to it". In my head I was screaming that it hurt, and this was stupid, and I was stupid. 

I wasn't really a masochist, I was just curious I think. Or maybe that wasn't the right word, because I knew what would happen. There were nine other circle-shaped scars on the same forearm. I actually think the world for it was just "Mary Is A Pyromaniac". 

By the time my dad was home and I was ready to be driven to Kenzie's, I felt a lot less angry. However, I didn't feel very calm to tell the truth. For once it wasn't because I was entering panic mode over The Man with Long Teeth. Instead I felt all giddy after having fucked around with fire again. It was actually really easy to get me in a high-energy mood, but this was a good thing. My charisma, social skills, productivity, bravery, excitement, humor, and overall energy went up by 40 points each like I was a video game character. Often times I purposely triggered myself to swing into this mood to do tasks that required those things I listed. I think my subconscious may have made it so I felt a little braver before going to Kenzie's.