A Beautiful Reflection From Firework Eyes

The Walls Grow Hands And Teeth

(Nine months ago)

My powers are impressive, I have to admit. The flames are beautiful, the orange and red glow washing over the normally plain white walls of the room. I've never used them much before. It was always something I needed to hide—something that I couldn't take pride in, couldn't show. There were always whispers from my parents and other people. Don't show what you are. Hide it, or something terrible will happen. It's dangerous. Not something to like, not something to love. Dangerous.

The strangeness of the Facility is that my powers are suddenly appreciated. I'm praised—admired for what I can do. I'm encouraged to work more—encouraged to use my powers more and more. Now that I can see the full extent, the full beauty of what it is exactly I can do, I'm awed that I hid it for so long.

But I wish I could have appreciated my powers before I was taken here. Because now I'm forced to use my abilities until I physically cannot anymore. It takes the joy, the happiness out of it, making it something I dread. Every day leaves me worn out and drained. I've never used my powers this much before, save a few occasions when I was curious. I'm exhausted, swaying on my feet as the flames splutter out around me. I struggle to keep my eyes open as my head throbs.

"Keep going." The voice is cold and cutting as it echoes through the room.

I force myself to lift my arms, focusing on the flames. But everything's a faded blur in my mind. I'm too exhausted to feel the fire at all.

"I can't," I drop my hands by my side. "I'll pass out if I do."

"Continue." The voice says again.

"I can't," I beg. "I really can't anymore."

The door slams open, crashing into the wall.

"Did you just disobey me?" Mr. Styles shouts as he storms into the room. The sound rings out as he slaps me across the face.

My face stings, and I reach up, feeling blood on my face from where my teeth caught my lip. I shrink back, but he's not done. He grabs the collar of my shirt, pulling me forward.

"We saved you off the streets, and this is how you repay us?" He screams, spittle flying from his mouth. "You owe us." That's not true. I don't owe them anything—they were the ones who dragged me from my home and my family. But I don't argue back as he drops me, pushing me away.

I keep my mouth shut as he rants on. "We give you a roof over your head, encourage you, train you to use your powers, and all you will say is that you can't?"

I keep my gaze fixed to the floor, hoping he'll let me go, but he's not done. His hand reaches down, grabbing me roughly and forcing me to look up at him.

"Are you even hearing what I'm saying?" he spits.

"Y-yes, sir," I stammer out. "I won't again."

But he's not placated. He drops me with a disgusted snort as he turns away. "Take him to the Dark Room."