I can remember the horrible screams. The scent of burnt skin, hair, clothes. I destroyed it. I destroyed the place but people got away. The story was hidden. My story was hidden. After that, I made that same vow to myself as I made before: I will never, ever start another fire again. Fire only hurts people. Fire only destroys things. Fire only burns.

I still hate the people from the Shop. John Rainbird? I'm glad he's dead. He betrayed me. He fooled me. But I can't say that sometimes I haven't missed him throughout the years. That was years ago. I've gotten past it now. But I still have nightmares. Sometimes I'm still scared of myself. I've gone numerous sleepless nights, from the fear that my nightmares will cause a spark in my pyrokinesis.

I'm eighteen now. It's been nearly ten years since the incident. Since I've left the Manders to protect them. None of this is my fault. It's not my fault my parents were drugged by the Shop with Lot Six. It's not my fault they had me. And it's most certainly not my fault I was born with a mutated gene that allowed me to create fire.

The fire is a little monster in the back of my mind. It's like a constantly lit candle, it flickers there. It's never really gone, but it just fades. It fades until something kindles it, makes it spark. I'm always scared that I'll lose control one day.
But of course I'm better than I was before. I'm out of practice, though. It's been years since I've really allowed myself to use it. I've lit candles every now and then, when I haven't felt like getting up. I only allow that occasionally. I'm afraid if I use it too much, it'll get out of my control. It's a monster. It's its own being. Once the power grows, it's hard to stop.

And that scares me.

And my dad's not here to help me any more.

I'm the lone freak creation of the Lot Six Experiment.