This Girl's Fire

"She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire."
- Charles Bukowski.


     In her hand, it looked so innocuous, so innocent. It was a small tool of liquid and spark, something to create a controlled flame. It wasn't obviously harmful beyond the danger of a burn, and no one could claim the item was intimidating.
     Yet, in her eyes, this little tool was everything.
     The abandoned warehouse bordered a concrete jungle of poverty, crime, and violence. Most of the buildings nearby were decrepit, run down, nothing but good squats. There was no inherent danger in her presence, beyond the strangeness of a young female standing outside at three in the morning, a lighter in her hand.
     She closed her eyes slowly, memorizing the exact feel of the cool air on her face. Then she flicked the lighter, and tossed the tool now topped with a small flame forward, toward the warehouse.
     The heat on her face was instantaneous and she savored the feeling. The gasoline quickly went from plain liquid to liquid flame to raging blaze. The entire warehouse was up in flames, orange and yellow and red dancing together, flickering and twisting and sparking in a secret concert. Her eyes drank it in. She grinned.
     "The hell you doin'?" A strong voice startled her from her reverie.
     She turned, her eyes slightly widened in surprise, but her face still glowing from the wonder of the fire. There was a man looking at her, wearing a hoodie and sweats, his face somewhat obscured by the shadows caused by the flickering flames. Her lips tightened.
     "You gonna answer me?" The man took one step forward, she took one step backward. "Look, I'm not gonna call the cops on you or anything, just wanna know why you're doin' this."
     "The heart of our planet is made of fire, and our major source of light is a giant swirling fireball," she said in a self-assured voice. She was confident in this answer. He, however, looked at her baffled. Her statement answered the question, didn't it?
     "The hell's that s'posed to mean?"
     "Some people say hell is fiery, others say hell is icy, but even ice can cause a burn so I'm rather sure there is no difference."
     It took him a moment to realize he wasn't going to get anything coherent out of her. At least, not while she continued darting her eyes to the giant burning warehouse she had created. There was a passion in her eyes that made his skin crawl, but he wasn't sure how much of that creepy-crawly feeling was bad and how much of it was good.
     Sirens wailed forlornly in the distance. Annoyance marred her pretty face.
     "You oughta get outta here," he said.
     "But..." Her lips took on the perfect impression of a pout, her eyes transforming to those of a puppy dog. "The fire is so pretty."
     He shook his head. What was with this girl?
     The sirens began to get louder.
     "Well, maybe you're right...even if it means I won't be able to enjoy the burning." With that, she oriented herself on the sidewalk and began to walk away at a steady pace. He was left with his mouth hanging open.
     "Where ya goin'?" He demanded, running after her and then keeping pace when he caught up.
     "Somewhere. I can't stop, because I burn everything I touch."
     "Whatcha talking about?"
     "Well," she turned her head to him, eyes darkened with passion and her mouth tilted in a wicked grin. "I am my own fire, and I live in my own flames."
     Once more, he was left feeling startled, confused, uncertain. Once more, he wasn't sure how much of this feeling was negative and how much was positive. There was something about her that drew him in, drew him closer. But the danger she represented did not escape him, and he remained wary.
     As they walked, she put her arms straight out on either side of her, nearly smacking him in the process, and spun in a circle, letting out a breathy laugh.
     "Oh, how every night should flame with fire..." Her voice was wistful.
     "Sounds kinda dangerous," he muttered.
     "Yes, but if we all know the world will end someday anyway, why should it not end in flame?"
     He said nothing.
     They continued to walk in companionable silence.
     "Who are you?" It was he who finally broke the now restored serenity of the night since the silence had long ago gone quiet.
     "Call me Cinder, call me Ash, call me Ember, call me Soot."
     "Uh...so whaddya want me to call you?"
     "The name doesn't really matter, don't you see? All that matters is that I am my own fire, and I do what I please."
     "Oookay..."
     She spun again, her laughter echoing through the utterly too quiet neighborhood of run down storefronts and ramshackle homes surrounding them.
     "Did you know, the moon is a reflection of the light of the sun, which is a giant ball of flame, and therefore takes on that role by proxy?"
     None of her words made sense to him.
     "Huh?"
     "Never mind," she smiled.
     This was a night they would both remember.
     The night he met the beautiful, insane girl with a passion for flame.
     The night she met a male stranger, who didn't understand her hobby, but walked with her regardless.


     For in truth, fire is the most vibrant alive thing in the universe. It consumes and produces its own energy, all the while growing, shifting, dancing. Fire doesn't care about anything more than life, and it is so much brighter and hotter and better than we could ever hope to be. As far as being alive goes, fire is.