There are two kinds of people in the world: those who start the fires, and those who put them out.
Some people say that fire is rebirth. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, we are reborn into something beautiful. A way to start over; a promise. Others say that fire is absolution, a cleansing of evil. We are all bathed in holy fire and come back pure.
But who starts the fires? And why? Is it to cleanse the world of the filth in the streets, or a way to restore what some feel has been lost? Could it be that fire is a test of will? How strong will you last in the heat before you are hurled down to the scorched earth, beaten, broken?
No one was prepared that night for the fire that had started, nor how quickly it swallowed up the house in two big bites like a terrible demon from hell. It wasn't supposed to happen to her, to them. They put out the fires, restored hope to those who had lost it.
"Are you going to be all right?" Jessie asked quietly.
The skeletal frame of the house stood tall before both girls, charred, empty. It looked wrong on the quiet Manhattan street. The other homes bloomed with life: birds chirped, flowers thrived. It was a wonder that the city hadn't come in and knocked down what remained of Cassie's home.
"No," Cassie said honestly. There were wet streaks down her cheeks and the tears flowed freely again. She felt hollow, empty. Her parents were gone. "I don't think I'm ever going to be all right again."
"I'm sorry," Jessie offered, though it felt like a flimsy thing to say.
"When will it end?" Cassie responded. "When will they stop lighting fires?"
The girls sat together on the bench and watched life move on around them, the world still spinning, the sun rising and falling. It seemed unfair that life continued on after devastation. Everything felt so bleak.
"I haven't the faintest," Jessie said. "Soon, I hope. There will be nothing left to set on fire."
"Then we shall have to keep putting them out, won't we?"
"Someone has to."
And, just like that, the first rays of sunlight stretched up into the sky. The start of a new day. A constant cycle of rebirth, days and nights falling into one another. The girls stood up from the bench they'd perched on, arms hooking together naturally as they carried on down the street.
"Do you suppose we'll ever have a quiet life? One without fire?" Cassie asked.
"I don't think we shall ever have a quiet life. That is not our destiny." Jessie tipped her head a bit in thought. "But we are free. And we will stop those lighting fires. We must."
Of course, it wasn't possible to stop every person on the earth from lighting fires. Sometimes the world is a wicked place filled with wicked people there is no light anywhere. But there will always be people putting out the fires, just as there will always be people willing to light them.
...
Some time later, two shadows lurked in the shallow darkness of an alley way. The female, who had taken to called herself Joker a while after Cassie had gotten locked up, looked up at the hulking, red brick eye sore, squinting her eyes.
"How are we ever going to get in to rescue her?" she asked. "It's an asylum, Spot, not the Refuge. If they catch us, we're all done for."
Spot Conlon shook his head slowly, frowning. The only way that Joker knew he was frowning was because the cherry on his cigarette illuminated his face enough for her to tell the difference. "I have an idea."
He turned on his heel and walked to the mouth of the alley, glancing around casually for a moment before he walked back to where Joker was standing.
"You didn't do anything," Joker said, anxiety in her eyes.
Spot grinned, nice and slow like a cheshire. "Not yet." He tossed the cigarette aside and nudged Joker aside slightly. By her feet was a small window, just big enough to crawl through. Without hesitation, he braced his hands against the side of the building and kicked the window in. Glass shattered around his boot and Joker jumped, grabbing Spot's arm.
"Jesus Christ, Spot!" Joker swore, alarm in her eyes. "You're gonna get us caught."
"Do you want to rescue Cassie or not?" Spot said impatiently. "You asked for my help, didn't you? Take it or leave it."
Joker frowned as she watched Spot crouch himself down and swing far too easily through the broken window. It was dark inside the room and she couldn't see him but she heard his footsteps.
"Spot, I don't think this is such a good idea," she said, still trying to hold onto a scrap of her decency. Breaking into places was wrong. Lighting things on fire was wrong. But they had locked Cassie away instead of helping her understand her grief over losing her family. They made her the bad guy. They accused her of starting the fire.
However, when Spot did not respond, Joker looked around the alleyway nervously and then swung herself through the window after Spot. She was going to get her best friend and she didn't care how many people they had to knock over to do that. She was terrified - they all were - because the fires continued. Their organization was losing people left and right. But they needed Cassie. Joker wouldn't let her light go out.
Author's Note-
Wrote this because I miss my Shade story. And because I love A Series of Unfortunate Events. If you couldn't tell. Anyway, I realize this isn't my best work so I'm sorry. It's hard getting out of the Spot & Angel headspace sometimes because I'm far too invested in their story. Whoops. Hope you guys enjoyed anyway!
Written for the Newsies Pape Selling Competition. Circulation Two: Colors.
Word count (including author's note): 1,068
Colors used: indigo (shock) and blue (depression). I wish fear was a color. That's definitely a thread in this little snippet.
Carryin' the banner!
xx Wicked