Special - Ryden

Chapter Three

Trigger Warning: slurs, possible implication of abuse

I look around for a lighter. I have a candle shaped like a flame, it's one of my favorite possessions at the moment. I don't know why, I was terrified of fire at this point after... my mom... but this candle was just so cool and fascinating to me.

We only ever have one lighter in the house at a time. My dad doesn't care about much anymore, but a house fire is one of the few things he's scared of. I search where we keep the lighter. It takes 10 minutes of filing through trash and random small things like chapstick and shot glasses, but I eventually find the lighter.

I pull the trigger because that's all this one needs to create a fire, and it lights up for a split second and then-bam. It's gone. I try what feels like a million more times before giving up and throwing it in the trash. I make a mental note to tell my dad that once he's sober and awake and not having a hangover. Pretty much never. I'll find a time though.

I take the candle and go back to my room. It's really small, but honestly the second biggest room (not just bedroom, even out of the kitchen and living room) in the house. My dad's is the biggest, which says something cause his room is tiny.

I had read a story in school once, it was fantasy so there was magic. One of the characters could manipulate fire, and not just that but could create it too. I know I'm 14 and this is silly because I read that book when I was 10, and doing this is immature, but I pretend that I can light the candle on fire. For a second, I close my eyes out and extend my arm all the way, I stand far enough away that my hand is still about a foot away from the candle. I relax my mind and arm, but not enough it falls, and pretend I lit it on fire by doing that. I stand there for what feels like a solid ten minutes, probably because I was so still, but in reality it was more like 30 seconds. 

I open my eyes, knowing it wasn't lit and that I was being dumb, this was a fire shaped candle and I'm 14 and pretending I have magical powers.

I look at the candle, prepared to pick it up and throw it away because this is dumb, but.... it's on fire.

The candle. Is on fire.

I don't have a lighter, this is impossible. It can't be on fire.

But it is. Sure enough, a little flame flickers above the wick of the candle, yellow, with a hint of orange only at the bottom. I stare at the candle longer, and then I hold out my hand and imagine the candle's fire flickering off. It does it. And back on. Off, on, off, on, off again. 

I'm convinced I'm hallucinating, this is just my brain convincing me I'm special due to my lack of attention from my dad. 

Speaking of my dad, I hear a sudden pounding at my door. Normally at this time, he would be either in his bed or passed out from drinking too much on the couch.

Anyways, my idiotic ass decides to tell my dad. 

"Dad, dad, look what I can do!" I say, flinging open my door. I control the fire and turn it off and on again before deciding to create to balls of fire, one above each of my hands.

My dad looks at me in shock for a minute before he lashes out. I don't hear most of it, my hearing is overrun by the feeling of a panic attack. I catch small bits-"you fucking freak!" "You're going to kill me aren't you!" "Worthless piece of shit!" He closes his lash-out with a "fucking faggot."

This time I wasn't really dreaming, it was more daydreaming. I sprang back to consciousness when I remembered his slur towards me. I don't like that word. It doesn't help that I actually am gay.