Aiden Serafino D2 -FIN-

"I wanted to help them. I did. But I couldn't stop staring." Those were the sad words uttered by Aiden when the peacekeepers questioned him. When the hospital staff questioned him as they tended to his burns. Before long, everyone had heard about the tragedy. A home burned down in the middle of the night. A father, a mother, and their daughter burned alive while their nine year old son sat outside, frozen in horror instead of running to get help. They'd never know that he set the fire himself, not to kill them, but because he had always loved the way that fire danced and just wanted to see a bigger one. He hadn't wanted them to die. He just couldn't help himself.

He couldn't help being bounced from group home to group home because the other kids belongings kept turning up missing, only to be found later in heaps of ashes, in little bonfires that seemed to crop up in the backyards, the alleyways, the garden. And so, eventually, Aiden found himself on the streets. Just another orphaned kid forgotten by the district. Fire has been his only constant companion. His only friend. But like all the rest of the flotsam and jetsam circling the drain, he inexorably drifted whenever someone exerted a stronger pull. Gave him direction. There were more than a few gangs he found himself running errands for in district two’s seedy underbelly.

But like everything else in his life, it never lasted. Where does an outcast go when even the undesirables don’t want them around? There was always someone to piss off, someone he made uncomfortable, someone who didn’t want him around, and out the door he’d be –for the good of the gang- they always said. It used to bother him on some level, but after a while, he forgot why it was supposed to. There were more important things to worry about. What people thought about him wasn’t one of them.

Most people aren’t sure what to make of him at a glance. He has one of those forgettable faces, the kind that’s too average, that allows him to fade away in the crowd. But if anyone had ever taken the time to meet his gaze, they’d see harsh grey eyes holding intelligence and a deep longing for something he doesn’t fully understand. But it’s rare that any emotion betrays his face other than anger. It’s the only emotion he understands; glowing embers that can be fanned into a brilliant flame, searing anyone who gets too close before simmering down and leaving nothing but ashes. Aiden’s clothes smell of butane and oil, illicit activities and gasoline. Not that he’d ever explain why.

I keep to myself. A sentence he’d told many people over the years of his short life. The scowl that’s often affixed to his features keeps all but a few at arm’s length. He’s got an average build, and an average height. He’s unremarkable. Standard ears, hair that never seems to lie right. A nose that’s crooked from being broken one too many times. Facial hair that never quite came in. He has his share of scars, but most of them are not immediately visible; and most of the ones he does have are from accidentally burning himself.

There’s not much room for anything else.

Friends do not come easy. The latest he had chased away after he had lost his temper. "Re-light the candles. You don't appreciate her like I do!" Aiden had snarled angrily, grabbing the other kid by the collar and shoving him against the wall. "The dance she does." he said in a softer tone before his eyes hardened again. "Give me the lighter." he said quietly. The other boy squirmed. "Get off me man, those candles are supposed to last us the week." Aiden slammed the boy against the wall. "GIVE ME THE LIGHTER." he roared. "Alright, alright jeez, it's in my pocket." he fumbled through the pocket and grabbed it, letting the other boy fall to the ground. Freak, he heard him whisper.

Maybe he was. But he'd long since stopped caring about what people thought of him.

He found his way outside to the alley behind the house and flicked the lighter on with a heavy breath. The flame danced and moved his hand over it, back and forth, mesmerized by it, feeling his breathing became more evenly measured. Calmer.

He was consumed by it.

But his palm passed too close and he hissed, drawing it back, the barest hint of scorched flesh tickling his nostrils. He examined the burn curiously. It wasn’t the first time he’s hurt himself trying to get closer to it, and he doubted it would be the last. Another kiss from his muse. The most beautiful things are the deadliest, he reminded himself. The hotter the flame the more it’ll hurt.

He sat down and brought the fire dancing on the tip of the lighter closer to his face, gazing at it with rapture.

It was a price worth paying.