Pyromania

The wind blew.
The fire grew.
The boy watched.
Silently he sat, arms hugging his knees tightly as he rocked back and forth, hypnotised by the flames licking the sky, engulfing the building and surrounding trees in raging red and orange.
He heard the screams.
They came from all around, it seemed, inside the building and also outside as people realised that others were also trapped and catching fire within the depths of immense flame.
He watched, mildly intrigued, as they ventured inside the building, running out again, shrieking with pain as the fire caught on their clothes, their hair and their skin almost melting from the intense heat.
That was when the fire fighters arrived. He did not like the fire fighters. They made the fire go away. And he’d only just started to enjoy it.
Now the fire fighters were yelling. Others watched in horror and disbelief as the fire fighters’ ‘fire-proof’ suits proved not to be such a defence after all.
He smiled, satisfied, and continued watching the flames against the setting sun as the wind began to pick up speed around him.
There’s a word for this, he thought. Getting sleepy, he lay down on his front and wondered what it was. His mother had said it once, but that was some years ago. Something-mania. Meant that you like fire a lot.
He frowned slightly, knowing there was another word like that. That word was what made him different. It meant you could start fires with your mind.
He liked this word very much.
Nobody else seemed to though.
Sighing, he got to his feet as the chaos with the fire died down. He did not feel sorry for the people who got burned up. After all, they weren’t very nice to him either.
He turned to leave, looking up at the new stars in the sky, like shiny new pins studded against black fabric. A discarded thought (flickering, flames) flitted through his mind and disappeared. It wasn’t important.
He wandered back to where he’d camped for the night, knowing that come morning all the people would be talking about the fire. Word spread quickly among small towns. By then he would be maybe halfway to his destination, wherever that was.
Maybe at this new place they wouldn’t be so scared when he read their minds.
Maybe at this new place they wouldn’t run when they discovered his talent.
Maybe at this new place he would be accepted.
Maybe.
But if they didn’t, well, at least he had his fire.