The front door of Elliot Pizarro's home was standard enough, aside form the fact that this door had a little girl with curly blonde hair and purple eyes standing on the stoop. A little paper piece of paper, which was in her hand, was quickly slipped underneath the white door. She muttered to herself, and if anyone had heard her they would have been terribly disturbed. “I knew I'd forget one. The plane will be falling soon, perhaps I can put him in the crash zone.” She backed up and surveryed the area, and though she was angry with herself, she smiled. “He has no idea what's about to come.” she said to herself as she started to grow. A teenage boy walked down the steps- resembling the little girl only in the fact that he had purple eyes and an S birthmark on his shoulder.
“Elliot, would you get the campfire going?” Mr Pizarro asked as he unpacked sausages from the cooler. It was the last day of the Pizarro's annual week-long camping trip and the first time Elliot had been allowed to light the fire by himself.
Feeling the weight of responsibility his father had given him, 11 year old Elliot sat straighter and picked up the flint to begin the fire. He rubbed the rocks together to warm them up (something his dad had told him countless times wouldn't help) and then quickly ran them together, hoping for a spark to light the kindling. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. He tired multiple times- each time getting more dejected. Why was this suddenly so difficult?
Frustrated with his unsuccessful attempts at beginning the fire Elliot threw the flint into the fire pit, “just light already!” he yelled in his head.
“Push the kindling under the stinks now!” Mr Pizarro exclaimed to Elliot, who looked in the fire it and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a large flame burning up the kindling. “How had that happened?!”
Without thinking, Elliot quickly pushed the kindling under the sticks- the flame playfully licking his hands and caressing his skin.
Dinner passed quietly, Elliot consumed with thoughts over starting the fire, and his parents too tired from a long week to pursue conversation.“We had better put the fire out soon, but if you want to play with the coals keep them low and don't let the fire blaze,” Mr Pizarro had told Elliot after they had eaten and the Pizarros retired to their tent. Eleven seemed to by the age he could do everything, Elliot thought to himself after willingly agreeing to keep the fire low.
Elliot managed to keep just the coals burning, but he was will curious about early and how he had been able to start the kindling without any flint. He thought and thought about what had been different, and decided that he had thought very hard when he threw the flint. Perhaps will power was important? He decided it was worth a shot.
After checking to be sure his parents were asleep, Elliot grabbed some wood from the ground and placed it in the pit. Then, summing up all the will power he could, Elliot made for the flint, which sat beside the wood. “This will be a fabulous fire”! He thought to himself. To his surprise, a spurt of fire shot from his hand and onto the wood, causing the stick to burn brightly. Sheer shock caused Elliot to fall backwards and into the pile of dishes his mom had stacked neatly beside the fire pit.
“What's going on?” his dad's voice called from the tent, the flashlight turning on.
Elliot quickly opened his hand and called the fire to him- hardly realizing what he was doing, only thinking that his father would kill him if he saw he had light a fire after Mr Pizarro had expressly told him not to light one. The fire flickered, as though it wasn't sure whether or not to come- but at last it obeyed and flew to his hand.
Mr Pizarro came out and looked aghast.
“I'm sorry, I fell,” Elliot said, leaving out the bit about the fire.
“Marie!” Mr Pizarro called.
“What is it Robert, is he hurt?” Mrs Pizarro worried, coming out of the tent- her face morphing to match Mr Pizarro's. Elliot then realized that the fire was sitting atop his hand, burning as though it were attached to a candle. Elliot quickly closed his hand, the fire dissolving the moment his fingers curled.
Silence hung in the air as Mr and Mrs Pizarro sat down around the fire pit. Elliot sat nervously on the opposite side- wishing he had a sweater because without the fire he was chilled. He decided to start another fire, realizing this time that he was actually making the fire, not the flint, not his willpower- though that was part of it. All had had to do was think of the fire and it would come.
Elliot stuck out his hand and summoned fire to his hand, which promptly leaped to the wood he had set in the pit earlier. His mother gave a gasp and his father simply stared into the flame.
Mr Pizarro was a thinking man- he thought things through so that when he spoke it was with careful deliberation.
“I think it's time for bed,” Mr Pizarro finally spoke,and with that, the family went to bed.
It was some time before the family talked about Elliot's new found power, and even more time before Elliot was allowed to practice his power. The Pizarros moved to a stone house after waking one night to the fire alarm, which was set off by a small fire in Elliot's room that he had set while sleeping.
Elliot liked his power- it gave him a confidence in himself, knowing he could hold his own and that he was truly special. He never told anyone outside his family what he could do- though he did display a certain affinity for fire that frightened some teachers.
“Elliot is a very fine creative writer- his stories are always exciting when we read them aloud. I am however a little worried that they all centre around fires,” Mrs Hall, his English teacher wrote to his parents one day.
“Elliot has a certain propensity for chemicals, I expect great things from him- though he might have to learn some restraint when working with explosives in the future.” Elliot's chemistry teacher wrote after a lab which experimented with chemicals that burned.
Elliot's parents fussed at him a little for worrying people, but when he told them his plans to be a firefighter, they simply glowed with pleasure. Deep down though, Elliot was unsure or his power. Though they gave him confidence, he was uncertain as to what he was meant to do with them. Firefighting, though extremely noble, wasn't what he wanted to do.
After coming home from school one day, Elliot saw a white envelope by the door. He bent over and picked it up, noticing the crispness of it.
“Abandoned playground, 4:30. Come alone. Keep flaming” Elliot's jaw dropped. Did this person know? Was it one of his friends playing a prank? The only answer Elliot came up with was that he had to go.
The playground had been declared unsafe and was shut down rather than rebuilt. The community viewed the place as dangerous, due to the many drug deals which presumably occurred there, but Elliot had always had a certain fondness for the deserted space.
“Glad you came,” a little girl said. Shew had blonde curly hair and mysterious purple eyes. “I'm like you,” she said, morphing into a teenage boy as she said so to prove her point. Elliot blinked, and she was back as a girl again. There were others like him? He wondered.
“Come with me. You're going to save the world.” She stated, reaching out her hand. Elliot paused- creepy girl/guy offers their hand meaning something unexpected was going to happen. The fact that he'd obeyed the letter was hard enough to comprehend, and now he was going to follow this strange person?
“You know you want to,” a small voice piped up in the back of his head, and he knew it was right. So he quickly grabbed her hand and shut his eyes- which was a good move because wind whipped his face and a bright light appeared before him.
“What happened?” he asked a second later, his eyes wide open and surveying a crashed plane.
“Good luck,” the little girl whispered as she disappeared.
“Help!” someone called from the plane. Knowing that was his cue, Elliot dashed onto the scene.