She liked to burn things

She liked to burn things, but once the fires started they never stopped.
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It hadn’t started out as something she wanted to do.  The first time had been an accident while camping with her friends.  Jenna was in charge of lighting the campfire for Smores and Beth, an experienced camper, “supervised”.   Beth needled her incessantly about this being Jenna’s first time camping and that she didn’t know the right way to do anything.  As her anger rose, she felt her cheeks flush and her hands go warm.  Then the sticks she had been arranging sparked to life, the fire jumping quickly outside the fire pit’s stone ring.  Beth had to rush to stamp out the fire before it spread to the forest around them.

Jenna sat bewildered for a long time.  She couldn’t puzzle out how she had done it or why she had enjoyed it so much.

Power.  Over time she realized the fire represented freedom and power.  Something wild, hard to contain.  Not subject to the rules she was every day.  Get up, go to school, homework.  March, obey, be good.  Be quiet. 

Fire raged.  Fire fought.  Fire got what it wanted.  And now fire came from her.

When her life got worse, on days she couldn’t handle her mother’s drinking, her father’s endless avoidance, and the lonely wails of her baby sister, Jenna trudged out to the forest behind their house and sat in a clearing.  She breathed in and out, letting the flame rise to the surface of her skin, enjoying the tingling in her palms.  She looked at her hands and considered letting the flame inside her loose, burning everything to the ground – her life, her family, the whole uncaring town.