Hey guys c: This is my first fanfic of TF2. I've been playing this since it came out, and I felt like Meet the Pyro just didn't really fill us in on the Pyro as a character. Please feel free to leave reviews to let me know what I can improve to make this better. Also, I may refer to the Pyro as "him" out of the story in author notes like this. It's just a habit for me to call anything genderless 'he/him/his' and does not mean that the pyro in this story is male. I'll leave it up to the readers imagination as to who or what the pyro is. Have fun and enjoy!
Chapter 1
The sun was setting in the late afternoon, a great orange glare being cast on the reflective windows on the skyscrapers, creating the effect that the entire city was aflame. I continued my way down the street, constantly clicking my lighter on and off, on and off. It was a habit that has carried over from my childhood.
My father was a smoker, and often left his Zippos laying around the house, much to my mother disproval.
"What if the child gets to it?" She would nag him.
"Now, I'm not that irresponsible," He would retort in annoyance. "Look, I'll just keep them in this drawer, see?" He said slowly, treating my mother like a child herself. "It's too tall to be able to reach. Besides, it's not like children are that smart."
It was always late at night that I would reach into that drawer. I would lay awake in my room, blanket pulled over my head, as I waited for the arguing and yelling to stop between my two parents and for them to retreat to their bedroom. After that, I would sneak out as slow and stealthy as a 6 year old could and press my ear up to their door to listen. Often times, I would hear the television discussing various news before they shut it off to go to sleep. Other times, it would be my mother and my father having sex, which was followed by my father snoring. Once I made sure they were both asleep, especially my father, I would reach my little hand up, pull the drawer open, and reach in. I would wiggle it around until I felt what I was looking for. I retrieved it and sat on the floor before opening my hand. There it was, in all its beauty. My father's Zippos lighter. Smooth, cool, almost luminescent as it reflected the moon light filtering in from the kitchen window. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen; a true treasure. I would just sit there on the kitchens linoleum floor, running my fingers over it, savoring its flawless smooth texture. Once that feeling was sated, I cautiously lifted its lid and put my thumb where I had always seen my father put it. I sat there for a bit, just resting my thumb there.
"What if I get caught?" I would always think. "What if I get caught by father. He'll beat me like he beat mother when he found her talking to another man outside." It was a mental tug of war. Continue my indulgence or go back to bed. But I had come too far. I had to continue or start again, and so I—
A sudden shove woke me from my reminiscence. I looked up from my lighter at whoever interrupted me and felt angry, something that was a rare occurrence.
"Hey, watch it!" A very annoyed voice said. I looked in its direction to find who was possibly the ugliest man I had ever seen. His hair was an oily, thinning mess on the top of his head. His face was likewise oily, sheening with it. His nose was slightly red and absolutely covered in black heads. But the worst of it was his eyes; black, watery, beady. The glared down at me with such malice, you would think that I ran over his cat or something. My hand tightened around my lighter.
"Sorry," I managed to mumble.
The man straightened himself up, slightly puffing his chest out like a greasy rooster. It was only now that I realized that he was wearing an immaculate suit. How oxymoronic.
"Yes, well you should be. You're making me late for work." He gave me one last look down and continued on his way.
I glared in his direction before continuing on my way. I began to flick my lighter on and off again in agitation. I only just met the man, and I hated him. Him and his disgusting hair and clean suit. What was the point of wearing a suit like that if you don't shower before, assuming he does shower. In a sudden spur of the moment, I turn around, and follow him. Not too close, of course, but enough to keep him in view. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my zippo. I hated that man so much.
Hate was an emotion that I never felt, but only on some occurrences. But when I do, its intensity is enough to engulf the world in flames.
I want to see that man burn.