Fire can be beautiful if you just let it burn
By Trick Steven
Author's note: Well I decided to do a Firefly story since there're hardly any. My version of Firefly is pretty much the same as the show version only crazier…and he smokes. I do not own the Firefly and I apologize if the fire burning seems unrealistic. I've never seen something catch on fire.
Garfield Lynns loved to burn things. He loved how flames consumed objects, made it smolder and blacken until all there was left was a pile of ash. Fire held the visions that only he could see, visions of the past, present, and future. Sometimes he saw his former girlfriend, Cassidy, her mouth moving mutely in the crackling flames. Other times he saw his younger self before he started his criminal career as The Firefly. Lately, the only thing that the fires let him see was the vision of his mother, her storm-grey eyes looking stern, still reprehending him after all these years.
As usual, Garfield was playing with matches in his room, turning the newly lit flame in his hand while he sat idly on his bed. Garfield couldn't see visions like his older self could, but even when he was a young boy he felt an overwhelming sense of excitement when ever he lit something up. His mother unfortunately didn't appreciate the element of fire like he did. She often told the story about when she was a little more then Garfield's age, her childhood home collapsed under the mighty hunger of fire. She told the story to deter her son from starting fires, which she noticed from a very early age that he was quite fond of that activity. Their moderate two story home was located in the middle class community of Scottsbro and there were plenty of places for a child to burn things. When Garfield was in elementary school, for example, he liked to go to the park after school and start a small fire on the baseball field using a magnifying glass. He later upgraded and his fire-wielding tool of choice was his mother's cigarette lighter. He used it to burn things ranging from leaves piles in the middle of fall, to Billy, a local bully whose hair was quite flammable. Kids at school gave Garfield the nickname of "Pyro" and because of his obsession with starting fires, he was expelled from three schools. His mother, of course tried to help him by bringing him to every psychologist in the county. Their answers were all varied, one psychologist said he suffered schizophrenia, another said pyromania, and one even said that the reason why Garfield was fire-starter in the first place was because he subconsciously missed his father, who hardly came home because of his business trips. In the end though his mother gave up and decided she had enough. To keep an eye on her unruly son, she decided to home-school him, although that idea was short-lived because Garfield would often run away for days at a time in protest. So the next year he went the eighth grade at his new school, Volton Military Academy. He was successful in hiding his fires from the strict drill sergeants, although there were times where he was almost caught in the act. The reason why he was currently in his room was because he was grounded, not however because of his fire-starting but because he was caught smoking behind the school building. Garfield could hear his mother's voice from downstairs as he fiddled with the lit match. He cupped his hands around it, enjoying the warmth the little flame gave.
As if his mother had psychic abilities, she yelled from downstairs, "Garfield you better not be lighting a match in there!"
"I'm not!" yelled Garfield back, ticked off that his mother knew him so well.
He didn't however extinguish the burning match. Instead he got out his English test from his backpack. The paper had a big "D-"on the front that his teacher so graciously gave the day before. Garfield was upset that he got that grade and wanted to see it burn… but not yet. His mother was downstairs organizing her things to go to her conference meeting. He'll have at least two hours to tinker with his mother's lighter undisturbed before she came back.
"Bye Garfield!" called out his mother, who walked to the bottom of the stairs. Garfield put the flaming match in an empty water bottle on his desk and opened his bedroom door, walking toward the flight of stairs.
When he got to the top of the stairs he replied, "Bye Mom."
He tried hard to contain his enthusiasm of his mother's soon-to-be absence.
"If you need anything, call me. And if there's an emergency call 911 and go to Mrs. Robert's house across the street." Stated his mother and then she added, "And don't you dare try to sneak out of the house while I'm gone. If you do, trust me when I say that being grounded would be the least of your punishment."
Garfield wanted to roll his eyes at his mother's empty threat, but instead he simply nodded. His mother gave him a stern look and he said irritably, "Ya, I know."
"Good." Replied his mother, who then clasped her purse shut. She looked up at her son's face and tried to read his eyes as if she already suspected what mischief her son was going to do that night. This continued for another awkward moment, until she finally walked away to the garage. Garfield heard the engine of her car starting and he walked back to his room, peering out his window. He saw his mother's car pull out of the driveway and he smiled a most devious smile. Now that his mother was away he finally had the chance to play with his most favorite toy: Fire. Garfield was disappointed to see that the match in the water bottle was out but then thought of a better medium to start a fire. He walked to his mother's room and rummaged through her cabinets until he found a plastic red cigarette lighter. His mother was trying to quit smoking as to set an example for her son, but he just ignored her valiant crusade and stole her cigarettes for himself.
He grabbed the lighter and looked around for something to use it with. He saw a stack of books and clicked the lighter on. The flame danced on the cover of the top book and then died. Garfield was frustrated but he wasn't willing to admit defeat. He then began to rip the books by opening to certain pages and tearing out twenty pages out at a time. Once he was finished, he arranged the pages in a neat pile in the center of his mother's bed and lit the light upon it. This time, the flame held on to the written words and began to consume it greedily. Garfield stared at in fastanation, observing that the fire acted very much like a living thing as it needed to eat and breathe. Garfield however thought that the flames weren't spectacular enough so he ran down to the garage and came back up with a gasoline canister. He was careful enough not to get too close when he dumped the gasoline on to the fire. The flames flared up quickly and turned brighter. Satisfied, Garfield sat in an armchair and leaned back, enjoying the little fire show that was quickly destroying his mother's room. After a couple of minutes, Garfield got up and doused the fire again with more gasoline and went downstairs to drink some water. When he came back up, he was surprised to see that the flames were pouring into the hallway and was quickly headed to his room. He panicked but then thought that there wasn't anything valuable in his room anyways. He also debated on whether or not he should call the fire department.
"No." said Garfield to himself. "I don't need to call them just yet."
He stood at the top of the stairs, watching in anticipation as the gluttonous flames ate it's fill of tables, cabinets, books, and photo albums. Garfield felt tempted to touch the fire, to feel the heat on his skin but he knew that he already had enough burn scars to last him a lifetime and he didn't need anymore additions. When the crackling flames got too uncomfortably close, he headed back downstairs. He didn't call 911 until he saw the orange and red flames come rolling off the walls of the stairway. He knew he had to make his call quick, since the smoke was beginning to thicken.
"Hello? This is the emergency hotline." announced the phone operator coolly after Garfield dialed 911.
"Hi. My house caught on fire. My address is 4321 Danielson Avenue." Stated Garfield calmly.
"Um, o.k. then…emergency personnel will be there in a few minutes. Um, are you alright sir?" asked the operator, who was a bit taken back at Garfield's calm voice.
Garfield paused to admire the flames, before he answered, "Ya I'm fine, thanks." He then hung up before the operator could say anything more. He needed to get out before he died from smoke inhalation. Since the fire was already at the front door, Garfield went to the garage door and opened it. He was now out into the cold November air but it didn't bother him. He saw that some of his neighbors were outside too, gawking at the pillar of smoke coming from his house. They reminded Garfield of the story he heard about domestic turkeys; they were so dumb that when it rained they looked up with their mouths open and drowned. He chuckled at the thought as he made his way across the street. He knocked at the door and an elderly woman opened it.
"Hello Mrs. Roberts." greeted Garfield with a wry smile. "My mom said I could come here in case of an emergency."
"Oh really? What emergency?" asked Mrs. Roberts.
"That one." Said Garfield plainly as he stepped aside to show Mrs. Roberts a full view of the crumbling black mess that used to be his home.
Soon after the firemen came, although their efforts were in vain. The house was completely destroyed by the fire and nothing could be salvaged. Garfield's mother cried a river when she saw the blackened ruins of their former home. Garfield was sent to the hospital to be treated for mild smoke inhalation and was soon released. When he came home, his mother was less then forgiving. She never really treated him the same way again, somehow knowing that Garfield was responsible. Garfield however couldn't say that he regretted his action. Whenever he had a bad day at school or felt that the whole world was out to get him, all he had to do to feel better was to light a match and think of the day when he finally won against authority.