Nina Larkin && D5 [fin]

The crack of a whip hitting the earth echoes throughout the neighborhood. My wild chestnut hair curls around my shoulders and falls into my face, causing my vision to become hazy. My feet are winged, and each quick step is light and airy. A corona of confused commotion and chaos whirs around me, encasing me in more fear than I've ever experienced in all of my eighteen years. At the same time, I am exhilirated. It's not the first time I have been chased through the streets by an angry passerby. Sparklers are in my clammy fists, and light is sprayed all around me. Fire is my passion. It is light. It keeps me from falling into the dark. Though some people aren't raving pyromaniacs as appreciative of fire as I am.

Five minutes prior to this chase through the streets, I was just wandering around. My dark auburn hair was tame, tied up in a loose, messy bun. My blue eyes scanned the perimeter, glimmering with mischief. My pale, scarred hands lingered in the back pocket of my ripped jeans, where my sparklers were concealed. My chest heaved in anticipation. A mirror at one of the kiosks in the market reflected my features; my round face, my full, pink lips that were curved at the edges. I raised my pointed chin, smirking as I unveiled the sparklers. I pulled matches from the inside pocket of my jacket, lighting the stick and watching the sparks soar. A few people turned and watched me play with my handheld fireworks, drawing elaborate patterns in the air as if it were a canvas.
I loved art. And I loved fire. They just went together so well. Balancing on my plastic-wrapped toes, I slowly leaned back and let my hands met the stone path behind me. My calloused palms sharply bounced off the ground, the sparklers flying from my fingers to my toes. My feet flailed in the air, sparks falling all around me. The light formed an X-shape above my head, and from my uncomfortable position on the ground, with my head resting on the ground and stones digging into my hands, I could see that the small crowd was pleased.

I tumbled back to my feet, swinging one of my legs up behind my head and pressing my dirty foot against my skull. I leaned forward, pivoting on my toes, and waving the sparklers before me like flags. I spent thirteen years in gymnastics and six years practicing with sparklers to get this far. I suppose I could be labeled as a circus performer, now couldn't I? But I prefer the term "golden girl." Get it? Because fire is gold?

***

I've spent more time in the dark than I'd actually like. It's almost like the shadows have cast a spell on me, claiming me for its own. And it's very fitting, actually. People call me the daughter of the devil because my father is notorious for frightening children and demanding high fines from people. "Oh look, it's Nina the devil child. Keep away, children!" I mean, come on now. I'm not going to eat them. Sometimes when I'm hungry (which is almost always, considering my dad is a greedy drunkard who always forgets I exist) I joke about eating a whole army of Peacekeepers. They believe me. They call me a cannibal. Sometimes I wonder if I am. I only bit someone once, and that was in kindergarten. (People forget your birthday but not the rumors floating around about you.)

I remember when my mom was here. She was pretty, with ombre hair and ice in her stare, just like me. Alison made me feel wanted, even when Martin did not. When she fell ill with pneumonia and died, I knew the next few years with my deadbeat dad would be a living hell. He didn't think anything of me except that I was shit under his feet. He didn't want me to go to gymnastics or do what I loved. I persisted, and when he gave me a firm, stern "no", I went anyways. Because that's how I roll.

I'm an only child. So I'm alone with Martin. Naturally, people would think that with Alison gone, I would become unbalanced and shift to the dark side. The house used to be a silent warzone, the place where Yin and Yang clashed in battle. Alison had a little bit of fight in her. I got that from her. Martin may as well have been a gaping blackhole.

***

I took pride in my glittering sparklers, tauntingly pressing the paper stick against my lips as it slowly burned, pretending I was going to swallow it whole. It was a personification of my life problems. If only I could swallow my issues in one big gulp. But for now, I would dance.

I dropped into a split, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the asphalt. My sparklers lay on the ground before me, igniting the veins between the cracks in the road. I intently stared at the ground before me, painting a picture with my fire. My calligraphy was sloppy and misunderstood, so even the most attentive viewer would not catch on to what was going on in my disturbed mindset. The light faded, and the words became smoke in midair.

I crouched down on the ground, placing pressure on my toes and leaping off the ground. When I twirled in the air, fire spiraling around me like a tornado, it was like all my problems vanished. Sparks kissed my skin, leaving bright red lipstick stains marks on my bare arms. My toes brushed earth again and I did not stop; instead I defied gravity and tumbled forward, a blur of rose and tangerine all around.

Fire described me in a few words; outstanding, strong, and radiant. As I prepared for my big finale, I prepared to paint a picture in the sky again, to show the world what I was made of. All eyes were on me. It was time.

I arched my back, flying backwards, appendages not even close to kissing the ground as I dragged my paintbrush across my open canvas. Within seconds an infinity sign was drawn above my head, and I landed rather awkwardly on my toes. While the shrinking crowd was gaping in awe and congratulating me on my performance, my hand came out of my pocket, and swiped a cluster of grapes off the table. The stand owner cursed furiously at me, breaking chase.

I only smirked, waving my sparklers in goodbye.

I'm a thief too. Go figure.

I'm not going under today.