✕ Alexander 'Zander' Fuller ✕ District 5 ✕ [wip]

You are not a pyromaniac.

Despite everything you have done and everything you will do, everything you think and everything you say, you are not a pyromaniac. The draw you feel to fire is something you deny, a mislabeled feeling of admiration and not an obsession. Every fire you set is deliberate, calculated, a pyromaniac never takes time to plan everything so carefully, but you do. Fire is your life, but you don't live for fire. You are not a servant of fire, you are the master.

From when you were little you always evaluated the consequences of any action you were going to take. However, it wasn't the moral scale that you used to measure. You judged each decision on the basis of what would get you to where you needed to go, or what would get you what you wanted. Each action you made was a power move, each with at least one important purpose - some with upwards of twenty.

You soon find you have few choices...
I learned the voices died with me

Fire was just another tool for the job, though it was by far the most interesting and most effective for your tactics. At your first glimpse of it you knew you had to tame it, to make it your own. Before you could walk you were already attracted to fire. As you grew you attained an admiration for it, having sustained burns from multiple attempts at a hands-on approach. You still have burn scars on the back of your legs from when you tested your theory that fire was less of a threat if you approached it backwards.

You didn't set your first fire until you were ten. Once you understood the finer workings of fire, after numerous burns and countless hours spent observing flames, you knew you could control it. Behind your house, hidden by the shelter of a half-made fence your father never finished, you set to work. With tinder and kindling you started, only allowing the fire a short leash in order to show it that you meant to be in control. It rebelled against the invisible boundaries you set it, spitting sparks at the dry grass between your feet. Despite its best efforts, though, you kept it trapped.

Day after day, you asserted your control onto fires that you let get steadily larger and larger until it threatened to make itself known behind the half-fence. Even so, you pushed your shelter until you were nearly discovered by a passing neighbor. After that you knew you would have to find somewhere new to set your fires.

When I was a child I'd sit for hours
Staring into open flame

Your parents never suspected your fascination, no one did. It was something you kept within your chest, it was your secret and revealing it would not serve your purpose. To keep it as such you moved from behind your small house and to an unused warehouse. Here there was even less danger of setting a larger fire, and there was also less danger of being found if you played your cards right - and you were always good at card games.

By the time you were fourteen you were lighting bonfires inside warehouse. Each night you would draw up the blaze from the coal you let simmer during the day, like a prisoner you kept alive on only the barest of rations.

Something in it had a power,
Could barely tear my eyes away

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When I was 16 my senses fooled me
Thought gasoline was on my clothes

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I knew that something would always rule me...
I knew the scent was mine alone

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When I was a man I thought it ended
When I knew love's perfect ache

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But my peace has always depended
On all the ashes in my wake

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All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach

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