Red. The color of roses and apples. Of small chocolate candies in a little kid's Easter basket. but red can be the color of malice, it can be of hatred, and fire. The endless burning of the sun, or the eternal red flame in my core. Red anger courses through my veins. REd blood boils with the red that shines through my eyelids, and smoke pours from my breath. No amount of Winterfresh can stop the constant smell of campfire. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and fire is what shoots from my palms and fingertips. An unending flame, a eternally bright and evil sun. Forever lasting red anger. My heart is red, my blood is red, my tongue and mouth are red... and fire is red. I am fire.

When I was born, I wasn't anyone special. No one knew by looking at me that I'd turn out the way I did. How I'd love to shove in back at the crowd that hated me so. How I'd love to show them that the little girl they hurt, the one to whom they caused so much anguish... well she's important. She has true power. But Pin won't let us tell anyone. He says if we do, the world will return to the chaos that was before Mother Earth stepped in.

I grew up in a small town where everyone else who lived there had witnessed the Wright brothers first flight. The entire town was made up of a small white and water stained church, a gas station, multiple houses, a market, and a MickeyD's.

All the houses were identical. They were a aged white color with uniform green grass shades over the windows. Each clean cut yard was the same square footage, each ancient spiny oak tree was home to a old tire swing held on by a decaying rope. Every house held a man and a woman, each about 206, just living out their golden years in this little retired town.