I could feel the heat evaporate my tears almost as fast as they fell. Even though my whole body was urging me to run, I felt frozen to the spot as emotions continued to course through my veins.

"How could I let this happen," I whispered through gritted teeth.

My body was still covered in fresh ash from when I ran back into the home that had only been mine for less than a month. I had been able to save my foster parent's dog, a small weiner dog named Penny, but the dog was now likely running around somewhere in the neighborhood. Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Ashby were out at the movies tonight, so they were safe.

My hands still clung to the hose that I had tried to use to douse the flame, even though I knew it was useless to even try.

Another tear fell down my cheek as I watched what could have been my future burn to the ground.

I snapped out of my daze as I heard a fire truck siren approaching.

I didn't have much time.

I sprinted to the old wooden shed in the backyard and grabbed my pre-packed bag from behind a large rock next to the shed.

I knew something like this was bound to happen, but I had hoped that it wouldn't have happened so soon. Frustration, disappointment, and self loathing took turns torturing my mind.

Why did I have to mess up all of the time? Why was it that the harder I tried to do better, the worse I ended up doing?

A crackle from the flames reminded me that I needed to move. I glanced around to make sure that no one had come to the fire yet, then, I snuck over the fence in the backyard into a neighbor's yard.

I began to pick up my pace again as I ran through yards and over fences towards the edge of the city.

I heard spend her course, and with a glance back, I realized that the firetrucks had made it to my old house.

It wouldn't take them long to realize that the flames were actually Spitfire, and then the police would be rushing to the flames.

Spitfires were extremely rare, because they could only be created by humanoid beings called Spitangers. If a Spitanger felt any strong emotion, they would emit sparks that caused spitfires. Spitfire was extremely water-resistant and had to get put out using a chemical called anti-spitfire.

The Government decided that Spitangers were too dangerous to allow them to live in society, so they captured every last one of them and put them in terrible spitflameproof prisons.

I sprinted across the main road that separated the rich homes from the poor areas and quickly looked for a hiding place. I noticed a tall conifer, and I quickly climbed up to a branch that had thick cover. I tried to catch my breath as quietly as I could.

I couldn't afford to get caught. I had managed to escape once; the government likely wouldn't let me live if I got captured this time.