Fashion Flame

 My body hit the ground with a harsh thud, sweat dripping off of my face and hitting the concrete.  My shirt was torn, my skirt, ripped, and my left high heel was missing.  I suppose one of them took it, or it just came off in the struggle.

 I lifted my head, and with my right hand, I wiped my face.  Blood.  My nose was bleeding.  I began to slightly freak out, as I was the most delicate of people; never been in a fight and tried to get along with everyone.  Although I had gotten into shouting arguments before, it never turned into something like this.  A small noise of panic escape my lips, and I felt my heart thrum in my chest.

                And they heard it, my sign of weakness, a sign that I was wavering.  One small sound of panic now, and soon they would have me where they wanted me; on my knees before them, crying and begging for mercy.  And I heard them, their mocking voices, hacking sounds as they spit on me, and shuffling dirt onto me. 

                There was more commotion, yelling and laughing, and then a weight fell on my back.  “You know, it was really hilarious to find out you was a fag.  I don’t know how it slipped past me, you can pass pretty well as a chick but then you had to open your fucking mouth,” I struggled underneath him, and he hit, no, punched me in the back of the head, rendering me disorientated. “And then everyone knows what you are.”

                I groaned and rested my head against the cold, unforgiving ground.  As I lay on the ground with a large man sitting on me, holding me down, there was even more laughter.  I yelped in pain as he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, my vision becoming blurry and tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

                “How about you give you a haircut, fag.”  He pulled my hair back, tilting my head back even more.  And I saw them, surrounded by these men, taunting me, some laughing, some shouting angrily, and some watched on, faces indifferent.  I heard a swish, a sudden pull, and the sound of hair being cut. 

                “No, no, no, stop it! Stop it now!” I screamed, throat burning, neck burning, I screamed as loud as I could.  More laughing, more anger, more indifference.  No one cares.  No one helps.  No one helps until it’s too late.  I scream.  Head burning, neck burning eyes burning, voice burning, throat burning, anger burning.

Burning, burning, burning.

Burn in hell.

                I hear screams.  Screams of my torturers, screams of fear.  The weight was lifted from my back, as my captor scrambled away.  I opened my eyes to find a fire, raging and consuming, had sprouted around me.  The grass was in flames, and a nearby tree had caught fire.  I stood up, shaking uncontrollably.  Eyes watery, hair chopped it bits, I stood in the middle of this fire circle, with no way to escape.

I walked closer, arms wrapped around me to keep me safe, to the edge of the fire.  It almost seemed to… Bend my way.  I reached my hand out hesitantly, and it came to me, like how a loyal dog will greet its master.  I flinched away, but soon returned my hand, as the fire felt warm, but not unbearably hot as it should.  It came again, caressing my hand and arm like it loved me.  It was warm.  I smiled, sniffling a bit and wiping my face.

I put both of my arms in front of me, and separated them, as if someone was opening curtains.  The fire around me disappeared, completely fizzled out, but the air was still warm.  I smirked, nodding to myself, not understanding why or how this new power came to me, but I understood that it was a good asset to me now.

            Walking across the ash-ridden ground, one heel sinking slightly into the warm ground, the other bare food crunching on the burnt grass, I could see in the distance some of the remaining boys still hovering around the area, unsure of what to do.  Stay, and continue their pursuit?  Or run away with their tail between their legs?  Walking up to my lost heel and picking it up, I decided that revenge would lighten my mood.