Ablaze: Zigzag's Story
Fire. That word alone could make me tremble; it held so much power and beauty, yet it was so devastating. But that was the reason I loved it; if you sat there just watching it, you could let yourself get lost in the splendor of its flame. Just the flick of a match could make my eyes light up; even the smell of sulfur would stir my senses. I was hooked on fire; it was like my escape, my way away from reality. As I stroked the match and watched the flame grow, life itself seemed to wither away, leaving me in an enchanted world of illumination. For a moment there were no fights between mom and dad, no more taunts about my 'paranoia', suicidal thoughts were no longer there, it was just me and the flame.
When it went out and the smoke billowed into the air; my problems came back again. I could hear the names they called me at school today, I could feel the tension in my home, I could see the razors, which were looking quite friendly in the bathroom. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat, trying to ignore the desire to eliminate myself from this cruel world, and I lit another match, watching the flame, getting the sensation all over again.
My obsession with fire started when I was five, and when I was seven fire was my life source. My parents were afraid I was going 'crazy', because everytime I'd see a flame my eyes would grow wide and I would stare into space for hours, though it seemed like minutes. Eventually they brought me to a shrink and he diagnosed me with Acute Paranoia. I wasn't paranoid; I was just mesmerized by fire. No one understood me, and no one ever will.
Tragedy struck me at the age of eight, and it was entirely my fault. I know everyone blames me for the death of Anna, though they don't' say it, I can just see it in their eyes.
Anna was my older sister, by three years. She was my best and only friend, I told her everything. She would comfort me when I was called a freak at school, she would dry my tears when mom and dad would fight. Anna was my everything, and I killed her.
It was an accident, I promise. I was just lighting a candle while sitting on the floor near my bed. I sat there and watched the flame flicker. I heard mom call me from the kitchen, and I knew that if she caught me with a candle she would ground me from watching the first episode of Star Trek. I saw every single episode, except the very first one. So, when I heard her footsteps coming nearer to my room I panicked and shoved the candle under my bed. The rest was a nightmare. Anna was in her room at the time my room burst into flames. She was trapped, and by the time the firemen rescued her body, it was too late. Anna had inhaled too much smoke, which caused her to pass out before she could even reach the window. She was only eleven.
Months later people in town started looking at me strange, and I became labeled the 'Paranoid One', or the 'Kid who killed his sister'. No one ever looked at me the same again. I began to become more 'paranoid' when I would see people, I would think that they were out to get me for what I did. I would see a camera and hide; for fear that someone somewhere was watching me. Maybe everyone was right; maybe I was really paranoid after all.
You'd think that ever since the fire, I would never have touched another match again. You're wrong. Fire became more of a friend, more of an escape. Since no one would ever dare come near me I found a companion in the flame. By seventh grade no one would talk to me they would only whisper names behind my back, and then by my freshman year I had no one to turn to.
~*~*~
Fire. That's also what brought me here, to my doom, or so I think. I'm strapped to the seat of a bus, like some type of mass murderer. And for what? Setting fire to a piece of Styrofoam? It was an accident, I didn't actually mean for the fire to catch onto the school. But do you think they'd believe a paranoid guy who had killed his sister? No, despite my pleas and arguments they just carried me away. I didn't even have a fair trial; the judge quickly dismissed my case and gave me the choice to serve out my sentence at a psychiatric ward or a place called Camp Greenlake. I chose the latter, a camp didn't sound too bad and it was sure alot better than a padded room, I think.
~*~*~
If you get a bad boy and make him dig holes all day in the hot sun, it turns him into a good boy. That's their 'philosophy' here at Camp Greenlake. I know that's not the truth, I swear there's a bigger conspiracy here, it's just being covered by that weak excuse.
I'm assigned to D-Tent. The guys here don't go by their given names, but by nicknames. It has a significant meaning, it's like you are throwing your old life away and by coming here you adopt a new persona. You acquire new friends, new life, new pain, and a new future.
The guys of D-Tent aren't a bad bunch. I've actually made friends with all of them. There's X-ray, who is the leader, the alpha dog. Then there's Magnet, Armpit, Barfbag, and Squid, who has gotta be the best friend I've had ever since Anna. He 's been through a lot and he's got my back, I know I can trust someone like him.
The guys also have graced me with a nickname; I am no longer Ricky but Zigzag. Ricky has died and Zigzag lives, he is no longer an outcast with paranoia, but an accepted kid among others like him.
~*~*~
I don't know which is worse, a straightjacket or this shovel I'm holding right now. Maybe the 'Looney Bin' would've been nicer than here, this place is like Hell on earth. I have blisters on top of blisters; I'm going crazy in this hot sun. And now, now I know she is watching me, she knows my past, she knows what I talk about, she knows who my friends are, she knows everything. I know for a fact she has cameras, they're in the Wreck Room, the water truck and even in the showers.
~*~*~
Three months I've been here, and it already feels like three years. The days are too long and the nights are too short. The lizards are everywhere and the sun is so hot. There has to be a way out. Barfbag found his way, maybe I'll do the same.
Fire. That word alone could make me tremble; it held so much power and beauty, yet it was so devastating. But that was the reason I loved it; if you sat there just watching it, you could let yourself get lost in the splendor of its flame. Just the flick of a match could make my eyes light up; even the smell of sulfur would stir my senses. I was hooked on fire; it was like my escape, my way away from reality. As I stroked the match and watched the flame grow, life itself seemed to wither away, leaving me in an enchanted world of illumination. For a moment there were no fights between mom and dad, no more taunts about my 'paranoia', suicidal thoughts were no longer there, it was just me and the flame.
When it went out and the smoke billowed into the air; my problems came back again. I could hear the names they called me at school today, I could feel the tension in my home, I could see the razors, which were looking quite friendly in the bathroom. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat, trying to ignore the desire to eliminate myself from this cruel world, and I lit another match, watching the flame, getting the sensation all over again.
My obsession with fire started when I was five, and when I was seven fire was my life source. My parents were afraid I was going 'crazy', because everytime I'd see a flame my eyes would grow wide and I would stare into space for hours, though it seemed like minutes. Eventually they brought me to a shrink and he diagnosed me with Acute Paranoia. I wasn't paranoid; I was just mesmerized by fire. No one understood me, and no one ever will.
Tragedy struck me at the age of eight, and it was entirely my fault. I know everyone blames me for the death of Anna, though they don't' say it, I can just see it in their eyes.
Anna was my older sister, by three years. She was my best and only friend, I told her everything. She would comfort me when I was called a freak at school, she would dry my tears when mom and dad would fight. Anna was my everything, and I killed her.
It was an accident, I promise. I was just lighting a candle while sitting on the floor near my bed. I sat there and watched the flame flicker. I heard mom call me from the kitchen, and I knew that if she caught me with a candle she would ground me from watching the first episode of Star Trek. I saw every single episode, except the very first one. So, when I heard her footsteps coming nearer to my room I panicked and shoved the candle under my bed. The rest was a nightmare. Anna was in her room at the time my room burst into flames. She was trapped, and by the time the firemen rescued her body, it was too late. Anna had inhaled too much smoke, which caused her to pass out before she could even reach the window. She was only eleven.
Months later people in town started looking at me strange, and I became labeled the 'Paranoid One', or the 'Kid who killed his sister'. No one ever looked at me the same again. I began to become more 'paranoid' when I would see people, I would think that they were out to get me for what I did. I would see a camera and hide; for fear that someone somewhere was watching me. Maybe everyone was right; maybe I was really paranoid after all.
You'd think that ever since the fire, I would never have touched another match again. You're wrong. Fire became more of a friend, more of an escape. Since no one would ever dare come near me I found a companion in the flame. By seventh grade no one would talk to me they would only whisper names behind my back, and then by my freshman year I had no one to turn to.
~*~*~
Fire. That's also what brought me here, to my doom, or so I think. I'm strapped to the seat of a bus, like some type of mass murderer. And for what? Setting fire to a piece of Styrofoam? It was an accident, I didn't actually mean for the fire to catch onto the school. But do you think they'd believe a paranoid guy who had killed his sister? No, despite my pleas and arguments they just carried me away. I didn't even have a fair trial; the judge quickly dismissed my case and gave me the choice to serve out my sentence at a psychiatric ward or a place called Camp Greenlake. I chose the latter, a camp didn't sound too bad and it was sure alot better than a padded room, I think.
~*~*~
If you get a bad boy and make him dig holes all day in the hot sun, it turns him into a good boy. That's their 'philosophy' here at Camp Greenlake. I know that's not the truth, I swear there's a bigger conspiracy here, it's just being covered by that weak excuse.
I'm assigned to D-Tent. The guys here don't go by their given names, but by nicknames. It has a significant meaning, it's like you are throwing your old life away and by coming here you adopt a new persona. You acquire new friends, new life, new pain, and a new future.
The guys of D-Tent aren't a bad bunch. I've actually made friends with all of them. There's X-ray, who is the leader, the alpha dog. Then there's Magnet, Armpit, Barfbag, and Squid, who has gotta be the best friend I've had ever since Anna. He 's been through a lot and he's got my back, I know I can trust someone like him.
The guys also have graced me with a nickname; I am no longer Ricky but Zigzag. Ricky has died and Zigzag lives, he is no longer an outcast with paranoia, but an accepted kid among others like him.
~*~*~
I don't know which is worse, a straightjacket or this shovel I'm holding right now. Maybe the 'Looney Bin' would've been nicer than here, this place is like Hell on earth. I have blisters on top of blisters; I'm going crazy in this hot sun. And now, now I know she is watching me, she knows my past, she knows what I talk about, she knows who my friends are, she knows everything. I know for a fact she has cameras, they're in the Wreck Room, the water truck and even in the showers.
~*~*~
Three months I've been here, and it already feels like three years. The days are too long and the nights are too short. The lizards are everywhere and the sun is so hot. There has to be a way out. Barfbag found his way, maybe I'll do the same.