Flameless

"Stop! Stop the thief!" the man shouted, chasing after me. I ran, a trail of sweat dropping from my forehead. This was who I was or at least, this was what I had turned into. I was flameless. I had no other way to survive apart from stealing. And trust me I don't enjoy any part of it. I finally reached my hut. It didn’t even meet the requirements to be called a shelter, but this was all I had. I entered the tattered-looking hut, my heart pounding from the run. I wiped the sweat from my forehead as I walked into a corner where the mat was laid. I sat down, my body shaking with hunger. I devoured the loaf hurriedly, then breathed a sigh of relief as if thanking the heavens for saving me. This was my life. I got up in the morning, cleaned my hut, and left in the early hours to steal what I’d eat for that day. I had no goals, neither did I have anyone to look up to, as both my parents had died when I was much younger. It was as though I was just surviving, not actually living. I could remember little or nothing about my parents. I didn’t even remember their names or the day they died. It was completely wiped from my memory. All I knew was that they were gone. Since then, I had had to fend for myself. It was really tough especially in the kind of world I live in. A world where a being like me didn't matter at all. I laid on my mat, facing the leaking roof. Ariya, is this really how you’d live forever? The thought laced my mind like mist in a dark forest as I drifted off. --- I woke up feeling weak and tired. I sat up, half asleep, and stretched my arms and legs. Then I got up and went toward the window, covered by a worn-out curtain. I peeked my head out and saw that the sun was already setting. "I overslept," I muttered, closing the curtain. I decided to go out for a walk because, for some reason, I was feeling really drained. I grabbed my torn hood from the very old couch by the side of the room and went out. The wind tore through the streets with a fierce persistence, forcing me to clutch my hood tightly as I pressed on, weaving around the corners of the city. The wind finally calmed as I sat on an empty bench close to a small river. This was one of my best places in this small town where I’d just sit and forget how miserable my life was. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sunset and the scent of dew from the grasses when suddenly I heard a loud scream. "Run as fast as you can! The dragons are here!" the man shouted, running as fast as he could. People dropped whatever they were doing and scattered. The once calm street was now a marketplace of panic. My body didn't need my permission to start moving. I got up abruptly and ran as if my life depended on it, cause it did. Fear wasn’t new to me. It had lived in my chest for as long as I could remember, curling around my ribs like it belonged there. What was new was the weight of it. This was heavier, sharper, stronger. The dragons (crimson flame) were well known among the flameless. They never missed an opportunity to torment us. They are fully aware of how timid we are to them and they enjoy the look of fear on our faces as we run. They enjoy our screams and pleas. There was no flameless that didn't feel fear and hatred towards them but how couldn't we? They literally shapeshift into huge dragons and spit molten from their mouths.They were ruthless and arrogant. The opposite of the wolves (the blue flame). Those ones would never waste their time on something as irrelevant as tormenting the flameless. They work with precision and purpose. Unlike the dragons who see this as a sport, the wolves would probably see it as a waste of time. I'm very sure the silvers(silver flame), the rulers and most powerful of the flames couldn't care less about what happens to us the powerless. So I know the dragons weren't sent. They came on their own accord, that I'm sure of. As I ran, anger surged in my chest. I was angry that all I could do was run. I wish I could just catch one and give it the beating of its life. I finally reached a safe distance and at this point I felt like I was going to die either way. If not from the burning fire of the dragons, then it's going to be from the pain tearing through my chest due to the running and fear. Immense fear. I clung on to my chest. My head spinning. I was done being prey. I thought to myself as an angry tear burned down my cheeks.