Flames in my heart

“Please don’t send me away. I can’t be alone,” I begged.

“Clara, it’s only until you learn to control your powers,” my mother said, her expression softening with a quiet, sorrowful weight.

I never asked for this, I think my mother forgets this.

“I can’t do this on my own,” I whispered, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “You know I can’t.”

“You have no choice. It isn’t safe for you here anymore.” Her eyes darted to the floor, avoiding mine.

A familiar numbness washed over me. I was so tired of feeling like no one wanted me around. She was probably right, as usual.

“Fine,” I muttered, turning away before she could watch the my first tear fall.

Her heavy footfalls echo towards the hall, followed by the soft, thud of my bedroom door closing.

***

Flames climbed up the shed wall, bright and angry. Not again.

The fire moved fast, igniting the dry wood. I focused on the heat, reaching out with my mind to force the flames down, but as usual they ignored me. No wonder my mother banished me out here. I am a liability.

Outside the shed, the orange flames were at the lower branches of the surrounding pine trees. Panic spiked in my chest. All the paintings I worked so hard on while I’ve been here are inside that shed—months of work about to turn to ash and even worse the whole forest.

The heat blew against my face, dry and suffocating. It hadn't rained in over a week, and the brush was dry as hell. For a second, the fire twisted into shapes—shadowy figures of what look like people running from an army when finally the light is extinguished for a moment, plunging everything the people into pitch black before roaring back to life.

I blinked, disoriented. What was that? Smoke inhalation I guess.

Smoke hit the back of my throat, thick and hot with the taste of burning pine. I broke into a coughing fit. I was starting to think I might die out here.

Think, Clara. Do something.

My heart pounded in my chest. I was hot and desperate, I look around hoping for a solution and spot the garden hose wrapped around a post near the edge of the lawn, hooked up to the lake pump. Why didn’t I think of this before? I grabbed the nozzle, dragged it toward the shed, and squeezed the trigger.

A weak stream of water came out. But it was like spitting on a bonfire.

The flames caught the needles of the nearest evergreen, crackling as they climbed higher. The heat was becoming unbearable. If I didn't stop this now, the whole forest along Highway 17 would go up in flames.

Then, the sudden wail of sirens cut through the roar of the fire. Thank god.

A firetruck tore down the dirt driveway, kicking up gravel before coming to a hard stop. A tall man in heavy fire gear jumped out. He looked around, assessing the situation. Is it just one guy? The whole forest was going to burn.

“Is there a water close by?” he barked, not wasting a second.

“The lake!” I shouted over the crackling, pointing past the small wooden bunkie. “Right behind the cabin!”

My hose was no use, hopefully his would work.

He sprinted to the back of his truck, grabbed a thick hose that was attached to a portable pump, and hauled it straight to the water shore. He dropped the intake nozzle into the lake, yanked the pull-cord on the engine, and it roared to life. Within seconds, he was dragging a heavy line toward the tree line, cranking a valve open.

A powerful beam of water slammed into the base of the burning pines, making the air even smokier.

I hauled my little garden hose over to hit the lower brush, doing whatever I could to help. We worked in a blur of steam, ash, and blistering heat. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours until, finally, the roaring quieted down to a hiss. Black smoke turned into white smoke drifting through the sky around us, thick enough to make my eyes sting, but the wall of fire was gone and so was most of the heat.

I let out a shaky breath, leaning against an untouched tree. That was the second time I'd almost burned a forest down.

The firefighter shut off the pump line, wiped a streak of ash and seat from his forehead, and walked over to my side.

“What happened here?” he asked, his voice steady but demanding.

I swallowed hard. I couldn't tell him the truth, but lying under pressure wasn't something I was good at even in the best of times.

“I was working in the shed,” I stammered, pulling a story together out of thin air. “Something must have shorted out. Maybe electrical? It just... exploded. I'm just glad you showed up.”

He squinted, scanning the charred remains of the shed wall, then looked back at me. He didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't push it.

“You got lucky,” he said. “A few more minutes and you would’ve lost your cabin and the forest around it.”

I flinched slightly. His words sounded like my mother’s voice.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “I really thought I was on my own out here.”

“What are you even doing this far off the highway?” He unclasped his helmet and pulled it off. “This is no place for a woman to be alone.”

Without the helmet, I caught a clear look at him. He had dirty-blonde hair and striking green eyes that seemed too soft for a guy who just tackled a forest fire alone the way he did.

“I’m Ben,” he said, pulling off a heavy work glove and extending a hand.

“Clara.” I shook it, my hand looking impossibly small against his. “How did you get here so fast anyway?”

“I own a place a couple of miles down the road,” Ben said, pointing back toward the main road. “I saw the thick black smoke from my porch. I’m with the local fire fighting volunteer crew, but... usually, we don't get calls quite this intense and I don’t normally work out here. I’m on vacation.”

“Well, I’m glad you were nearby,” I said, admiring his muscly arms. Being around him made me feel more alive than I’d felt in months.

Before he could respond, a sudden crack echoed from the canopy above us. A high branch on the nearest pine burst into a fresh crown of bright, furious orange.

Ben snapped his head up, his eyes widening. “Stay back!” he yelled, reaching for the hose line again.

I stared at the fresh flames, my stomach dropping through the floor. Oh no. Not again.