Young Writers Society

Sometimes I like running. It makes me feel alive. Other times, when it’s combined with the feelings of grief and sadness, it can feel like you’re being stabbed seventeen times over.

Hold on.

Let’s rewind.

Okay, I’m sorry for all that suspense right there, but I’m just telling you what happened.

Moving on now.

My name is Kayden. I’m a pyrokinetic, and this story I’m about to tell you is the story of my revenge. And don’t go rambling about how I must be “immature” or “exaggerating.” Fourteen isn’t that young. I can promise you that every bit of this story is true. No matter how dark it may seem.

In the beginning, I lived in Zidia, the biggest anti-Enigma city in the Cartarinian Empire. People from cities like Macha and Asteizkoiza call the people who live there “Zidas'' because they act like they are their own country rather than a town with an astonishing population. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll continue the story.

The flames leapt hungrily out of my hand, devouring the pile of dry leaves we had just raked up in seconds.

Fuck.

I desperately tried to get it under control. When I finally had the fire back in my hand, the entire pile was gone.

But that wasn’t the only thing my parents saw.

“Kayden!” I whipped my head around to see my mother holding a kitchen knife and half a cucumber.

“Um- I was just-” I stuttered.

“When did this happen?” she gestured to the flame in my hand. I was about to answer, but she didn’t give me time. She dropped the cucumber on the ground- I know, right? Such a terrible waste of food- and grabbed me by the wrist, all while holding the knife to my throat. Not to be rude, Mother, but doesn’t the knife to the neck seem a little extreme for your daughter?

My mother and I continued walking through the house until she burst into the room where my father was reading.

“Did you know about this?” she demanded.

“Know about what?” Father replied, confused.

Mother turned toward me. “Do it again,” she ordered, knife poised. I obeyed and promptly sparked a flame in my hands.

Father narrowed his eyes and remarked, “Witchcraft!”

“This here girl ain’t a witch,” Mother snarled. “She’s an outcast. And you know what we do with outcasts, Ellis.” I didn’t dare to say that I preferred to be called an “Enigma” because who knows what would have happened?

“Yes. I do. Kayden,” he turned to face me, “If you want to live, get out of Zidia and never come back.” I nodded, trying hard not to cry. I went upstairs, got my favorite dark red and black messenger bag, and packed up everything I wanted to keep. I was sure to leave out anything my parents gave me. I instead put on the white cold-shoulder shirt I made not long ago, which wasn’t too bad, along with some red pants I bought from a traveling merchant.

When my bag was almost full, I looked around to see if I had left anything, and my eyes fell upon a small dagger. I had made the dagger back when I was first learning to use my powers. Back when Ash was still alive.

The blade wasn’t the sharpest, but I was sure I could sharpen it after I left. I took the dagger and its sheath, put it in my bag, and left the house- forever.

}(/\){

I ran as far as I could from Zidia. The farther I got from it, the denser the trees got. When I was certain that the trees would be trunk-to-trunk if I went any deeper into the woods, I decided to make camp in a small clearing.

What I did have: A dagger for hunting, a couple of days’ worth of food and water, and a bitchy firestarter (Ahem. Me.)

What I didn’t have: Control over said bitchy firestarter, a tent, or any survival skills at all

As you can see, I was not in the best position to survive. But I decided to deal with it. After all, I was only going to be here for a few days. Right?

I explored beyond my decided campsite and managed to find some branches to use for a shelter. As I was walking back, I saw a squirrel. Due to some unknown instinct, I dropped the branches and threw my dagger at it, pinning it against the tree before it could escape. My first catch! I thought proudly. Better to save my other food anyway.

When I got back to my campsite, I worked on building my shelter out of the branches I had collected. After many failed attempts to build a teepee, I came up with the idea to use strips of bark to bind the branches together and build a tent instead. I tried it, and it worked perfectly, but this was one of the only lucky things that happened in my fucked-up life.

Now I had the base for my tent, but it was still missing a cover. After gathering some dry leaves and sticking them on a long strip of bark, I tied the leafy bark strip to the bases that I had set into the ground. I groaned, even though it worked. This was going to take a while.