Small Stories

The Touch of Fire

I hate this. This... Power. Everything I touch turns to a pile of black and grey ash. To a crisp. It seems as though I can't control it. The fire in my veins.
Everything about me resembles a hot flame. My fiery red hair, that goes wild in the wind, my temper... Even my amber eyes remind people of the warm-ness of a small fire.
I get blamed for the fact I'm an orphan. My parents died in a house fire, the reason of how it started is still u explained. Of course everyone in my "special kids" class thought I did it. They still do; hell, I even thought I did.
20 years later, here I am; in a group of four, battling for our lives.
I feel the hotness run under my skin as the burning sensation leaves my palms. Although I can control the element, I still feel it. And as much as it's helping us right now, it's painful, and I really wish it would stop.
Tears start to roll down my face as the burning flames continue to lick my hands, stinging them to the bone.
At that moment I knew:
This was the end.