WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS TRIGGERS.

So here is a brand new story I started. It has a self-harm element so please be aware as you read. I really hope you guys like it. So Favorite, follow, and PLEASE review! You guys make me smile and your input helps me improve the story. 3 ~Alice

Burn

Prologue

It's a sensation to me. The feeling of warmth, turning to heat, turning to burning. It's been that way since the fire. A seventh grader starring into the eyes of a monster made of flames. It's been five years since that day. I remember it like it was yesterday. I'll set the scene. It's 2 am. The night is darker than black. But then there's a crackling sensation. And all of a sudden… fire. My apartment goes up in flames. . 12 year old me staring as the room bursts into blazes. My dad and I get out alive. My mom doesn't. But I don't talk about it. I talk about how the heat felt on my face. I talk about how dry my eyes got. How hot the smell was. How flushed my pale face became. How hot my cheeks became.

As much as fire hurts me, it relaxes me. I just love the sensation of hot. Who doesn't? What do we want during the cold winter? Summer. Only the insane hope for winter in summer. So given all this information. Can you guess what I want to do after collage? Yep. Firefighting. But I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. I don't want to be a firefighter to save lives. The reason is to stand in a room of hell fire. Selfish? Yes. Do I care? No. I mean that must be one reason I'm going to hell. Hell. Hell to me sounds like heaven. Eternity in a pit of fire? Sign me up.

My school nicknamed me 'Salamander'. Why? I don't give a crap. I don't give a crap about a lot of things. What people think of me, my health, my wellbeing, my grades, my reputation, even my dead beat dad. All I care about is my lighters, my matches, and the where to burn the next patch of skin. I don't get why people are so fixated on their vertebrae's. Especially with me. People are either intrigued by me or are petrified by me. That's the way it's been and that's the way I wanted it to stay.

Fire is a game to me. The how long can I last game. My record was five minutes. I was forced to go to the hospital by my father who's only reason of bringing me was so I wasn't taken away from him. It would make him look bad. I have many games. One is to hold my palm right over the tip of the flame. Another is to put the side of the flame right next to my cheek. My favorite is to light a match and lie it on my forearm. It's a game of chicken. How long can I last until I say oww.

Ok chill. Burning myself isn't the only thing I do. I sketch and I read. I have an old rustic notebook that has a pattern of flames sewn into its cover. My mom had given it to me for my eleventh birthday. I've kept it ever since. She had kissed me on my forehead and said 'Use it when your older, so if I pass on, you can open it and think of me.' She also made me promise her not to open to the back of the book until one of two things happened. I had one, used all the pages. Or two, found the love of my life. How cliché I know. But because I'm a good son and I keep my promises, I haven't opened to the back. My curiosity bites at me everyday but I made a promise I intended to keep.

My mom and I used to read all the time. She would either read to me, or give me books to read. My mom used to read me Peter Pan. Every night, before bed, she would tuck me in and read me a chapter. She never minded rereading it but she would until I fell asleep. No matter what day it was she would always quote my favorite line from the book. "The moment where you doubt you can fly, you cease for ever being able to do it." I don't know how she knew I loved that line but everyday she would say it. As a tribute to her, on her urn is that exact quote engraved.

So earlier I had said something in the past tense. (Check third paragraph last sentence). Yea, well, I was perfectly happy being left alone by my entire school until fate decided to be like "Oh your life is becoming bearable? Well lemme just fix that." Allow me to create an image in your mind.

It's a cool April morning; let's say the time is about 9am? I'm in my physics class trying to avoid all possible human contact when there's an abrupt knock at the classroom door…