Inquiries That Have Nothing To Do With The Italian Mafia - (Multiship){complete}

2. The Problem With Saying "It's Lit" Is That We Mean It Literally

Ross

September 2013

"Ryan, get down here! We're going to be late for lunch with the Ellises!"

I groaned inwardly, rolling out of bed and fixing the stupid black button-up that my mother made me wear before walking downstairs. Upon making it to the hallway by the front door, my mother gaped happily as she saw me. "Honey," she said softly, coming over to smooth back my hair, "you look so handsome!"

I rolled my eyes, mumbling a soft 'thanks,' following her and my father out to the car. After we all clambered in the car, we were headed down the freeway to one of the most expensive restaurants in town and I began to think back to something that's been going through my mind for months. "Mom?"

Mom turned around, smiling at me softly. "What is it, Ry?"

I thought over my question gently, picking at my nail beds. "Am I gonna have to be a lawyer like you and Dad?"

Mom's smile fell softly, glancing at my dad before glancing back to me. "Well," she started, leaning back over the seat, "what else would you want to do, dear?"

Again, I thought over my words very carefully before answering my mom in a soft tentative voice. "I was thinking, maybe - I might've wanted to be a vet? Or play music! I'm getting really good with my guitar, or I could do English! Or-"

"That's enough." My dad - George's - voice was booming throughout the vehicle. When Dad spoke, his words were final. "We've already got your AP classes and your college courses set up for you to start next year. No more talk of the foolishness of being a vet, or a musician or an English major."

I folded in on myself, feeling mom's sympathetic smile, but keeping my eyes out the window.

Today was going to be a long day.

*     *     *

It rains so much in Philadelphia.

So much so, that I'm never surprised when the power knocks out - much like tonight. Mom and Dad we're currently at some business dinner, leaving me home alone, illuminated by candlelight as I finish my advanced language arts homework. 'Advanced' is a relative term, seeing as I could do this shit in my sleep.

I decided to take a break from this tedious child level assignment, taking one of the candles downstairs to the kitchen so I could grab a glass of water. I put ice in a cup and filled it, bringing it to my lips and nearly spitting it out as soon as it entered my mouth. I grimaced softly, holding the candle next to the cup so I could look inside and furrowed my brows upon seeing that it was just ice water. For some reason, it tasted almost like battery acid, making my mouth even feel dry like a desert. I set the candle down and poured the water down the sink, going to head back upstairs before I noticed something that freaked me out even more.

My fingertips were on fire.

Not, like, on fire in the sense of being covered in flames, but two little flames flickering above my index and middle finger on my right hand. Terrified, I shook my hand vigorously, which put out the flames in no time. Slightly cautious, I reached forward toward the candle, hesitating slightly before moving my hand slowly toward the flame. This time, instead of igniting my fingertips, the flame came straight to form a ball in the palm of my hand.

I didn't freak out this time - at least not outwardly - but instead I looked over the flame flickering in my hand. I started laughing softly before carrying it into the living room and taking a look at the fireplace. I bit my lip softly before taking the ball of fire and throwing it directly into the fireplace. I was delighted to find that I didn't miss, and it completely ignited the wood sitting in the stone cut out of the wall.