miette reno / d2 / resub / fin

I’m not a pyro. Pyromania means you have a problem, and I don’t have a problem. I set fires where I want, when I want, and I can put them out whenever I want. If I had a problem, I couldn’t do that. I don’t let the fire rule me. The only fire I can’t contain is the one blazing in my chest.

My name is Miette. Miette means “little one”. I am not little, not a person who shrinks when spoken to, who obeys every command and has no taste for adventure. I don’t spend my days holed up inside my house because I’m afraid of what lies outside. My mother is that person. I will never be that person.

When I was born, it was cold. A snowstorm blew through the district like it was trying to freeze me, to put out my fire, but it couldn’t. It was like my hair was aflame, keeping me warm. When I was younger, I would dye it a brighter, darker red and curl it into big locks. I would wear red lipstick too, as if I needed to draw any more attention to myself. But I’m seventeen now. Too old for that. I washed the dye out, my hair returning to its natural orange, and I don’t wear much makeup anymore.

I’ve always been well fed, and my face and body reflect this. My face is round and my dark eyes aren’t sunken. I’m a bit softer around the edges than most, and a bit shorter, but it doesn’t bother me. I stopped caring about what other people think of me a long time ago. There are a few burn scars on my pale hands from various fire mishaps. I have enough money to buy whatever clothes I want, but I stick with simple things. The more fabric you wear, the more flammable you are.

People might call me spoiled. I don’t care if they do. It started when I was a little girl. When I wanted something my mother wouldn’t get me, I threw tantrum after tantrum until I got what I wanted. Tantrums were a regular thing in my house until I was about twelve. What can I say? I was a determined child. I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. My mother always gave in to my tantrums, so I grew used to getting what I wanted. Even now, I don’t have to beg for a thing.

Even though I look like I have everything I could ever want, I can’t say that I’m satisfied. I’ve always been a bit of an uncontrollable thing. I used to run away from my mother often. I was usually gone for hours, maybe a day or two, but when I was thirteen, I ran away for an entire week. My mother actually grounded me when I came back, but it was totally worth it. I’d never felt that sort of freedom before. There’s a need for adventure nestled in my wild heart. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to climb over the district fence and never look back. There’d be no one to tell me who to be or what to think. It’d be amazing. I can set as many fires as I want, but they’ll never give me a thrill like that.

I’m the type of girl that people don’t like to acknowledge— the loud, outspoken type. People are afraid of girls who don’t listen to every little thing they’re told. I’ve learned lessons these people haven’t. I know that everybody is always hiding something, and you can’t believe what they say. You have to question everything. If you don’t question things, nothing will change. You’ll just be going along with the mindless masses.

My mother was a little sheltered girl from rich parents who accidentally got knocked up at sixteen. She had me and moved right out of her parents’ home. Her parents had given both of us a hefty trust fund, so my mother had more than enough money for a nice house and everything a baby could ever want. While my mom got a job, I stayed with family friends or nannies. I guess I never really developed an attachment to my mother, but I was still lonely, so I started to throw tantrums to make people pay attention to me.

I actually made friends when I started school. Making friends when you’re younger is easy. You just tell them you like their crayon drawings and you’re best friends for life. A little bit after I started school, my mother got a boyfriend. His name was Abel. I liked him. Since I never knew my father, I would consider him the closest I’d gotten.

He had a bit more going on in his life than he let on. He did a lot of street work, smuggling things in and out of the district. He was caught around my twelfth birthday. My mother lost six years of a relationship as he was packed into a truck and shipped off, likely to be killed. It changed her. I was sad for a while, but I moved on. Meanwhile, my mother quit her job and holed herself up in the house. Sure, I saw her more often, but she was sad and bitter, nothing like the busy but still caring mother I’d had growing up.

At the tiniest bump in the road, my mother let herself go. She didn’t pay attention to anything I did after that, not like she was ever good at that, so I started hanging around the streets. I found myself some good friends. Maybe not good in terms of your good, but they’re plenty good for me. They taught me everything there is to know about the streets. Living this type of life is as close to absolute freedom as I’m ever going to get. Abel got to see beyond here from the back of a metal truck. I don’t want that to be me. Maybe I’ll be free one day, and I’ll do it on my own terms, setting the forest ablaze behind me.


original bio: x