Up until that moment, I had kept my power a secret. As a young adult I didn’t want to feel ostracized. Kids can be cruel about any little difference, even if that difference is a really fucking cool superpower that any one of those little jerks would have loved to have. Ugh, I’m sorry — I’m still a bit emotional. In my adult life, it was difficult to tell when I should bring up my power after meeting new friends and beginning relationships with new lovers. Right away seemed too soon, and after a while it seemed too late — like it would be something they’d be upset I didn’t bring up earlier. So I hid it for a very long time. My father was the only other person who knew about my ability to control fire, but we dared not speak a word of it to each other. Were we afraid that I’d be taken and studied in a lab somewhere by scientists hoping to duplicate my ability to build some sort of secret super-army? That’s what I told myself. Anyway, that all changed the night of my neighbor’s house fire. I was woken up around 4AM by the sound of fire trucks and raced to my window. There it was — Ron’s house, totally engulfed in flame. Maybe it was the fog of sleep still lingering in my head, or maybe it was because Ron is a good guy who invites me over to swim in his pool sometimes, even after that one time, but it was at this moment that I decided I could no longer hide my power. I sprinted towards Ron’s house, broke through the firemen ordering me to stand back, and shouted: “FIRE OFF!” “FIRE OFF,” I screamed again and again. “FIRE OFF!”

It was at that moment I learned that I couldn’t control fire. God fucking damnit, Dad. (Via TastefullyOffensive.)