It all started with a dream. No, I didn’t save the world or visit exotic locations, I didn’t even have some private time with that girl next door. Instead, there was just a void. A vastness that at once was both expansive and comforting. A whisper came to my ears. Slowly the volume grew and more voices joined the chorus. Listening was pointless though, I knew what they had to say. “Save us, protect us. Bring us home!”

The call built and built. As if in response the sound was soon joined by dark shapes to in distinct to make out. They danced and frolicked across my peripheral vision, teasing me with false revelation. Like I could just reach out and KNOW, but my fear was too great. Who was I, an emancipated teenager that lived in a rundown building to help them? “Go away!” I shrieked at them. The same way I always did, but they didn’t care.

“Save us, protect us, share your warmth!”

Defeated and knowing how this will end, I wrapped the void around myself hoping, just hoping, that this will all be over when I awoke. That’s when I saw it, a shadow of light danced across the horizon. Before the shape could finish manifesting, a buzzing noise resounded and shook the space around me. It encompassed everything and yanked me from slumber. Goodbye.

Brrrnng! Brrrnnng! The alarm clock shrieked with its little devil bells for all to hear. In response, a lumpy shape on the bed shifted and moaned its displeasure. The alarm clock paid it no heed as it continued to ply its stock and trade. The lump chirped in triumph as it found the object of its vengeance. With a mighty heave, a small, metal rectangle swiftly arched across the room and impacted with a Crack!

“Aaargh,” the lump growled. Blankets and sheets shifted to reveal a young man. This youth had brown hair and coal-black eyes. His face was rugged, with strong lines on his brow. Calluses covered his hands like a carapace. The young man gazed down upon his handiwork. The alarm was completely fine. A pity, he thought. A quick glance told him the rectangle which used to be his cellphone was not. Upon closer inspection, there was a large crack down the center and it wouldn’t turn on.

Bang! Bang! “I hear you in there, punk! You better have your rent by the end of the day or you better start packing!” Another bang shook the room and he heard the noise of creaky floorboards that told him Ralph, the super, had taken his leave.

Wonderful! With a groan, the young man, Jack Hearth got out of bed. This wasn’t the name he was born with. No, after certain ‘events’, he ended up a free man with nothing but his name. As a free man, the first thing he did was get a new one. While sitting in the endless line at social security he saw several quotes on the wall. One of them said in bold letters that home is where you make it among a sea of quaint slogans. So he made it his name.

Let’s see, he pondered. I have morning shift at dead-end job, followed by evening shift at a dead-end job, and finally by night class at the local community college. At this thought, he started to get dressed.

Once that was done, the great left shoe quest had begun. For some unfathomable reason, he could never find his left shoe. He put them together every night but in the morning… Once that was done, he realized that he had forgotten to take a shower before getting dressed. Oh well, I am just going to get covered in muck anyways. He decided he would shower and change before going to his physics lecture.

A bit later, a figure rushed out the front door of an old intercity apartment building. The place had an old stone facade that had seen better days. The upper layers were faded and chipped. Splashes of white and Robin egg paint tried and failed to cover up gang signs and multi-colored graffiti.

Jack took in the street upon his exodus from the aforementioned dump. The road was full of old junkers and trash. Nobody drove down this road, so he felt relatively safe jaywalking. With a huff, he started at a comfortable jogging pace. After a few blocks, he came across a familiar overpass. Both fond memories of good company and terrible memories of abuse and predation sprung to his mind. He picked up the pace. That was until a voice called to him.

“Hold it right there, young smoke stack!” Squawked a familiar voice.

Jack knew who had called for him. Only one person both used that name and haunted this region of no man's land. Old lady Jenkins. When he first visited her after his rebranding, she had just cackled and told him he was full of smoke and hot air. The name stuck. With a sigh, Jack throttled back on his pace before stopping several paces away from the old crone.

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She wore a faded dress so tattered the color was gone. On top of it, however, was a bright yellow plastic poncho. She replaced it once a month like clockwork, even in the summer. Her skin could tell a thousand stories. It was so worn and weathered that it seemed like leather in several places. Finally, there was her shopping cart. She drove that thing everywhere, looking for cans or shiny’s. Whatever caught her interest. He once saw her stuff a pink and black flamingo with vampire fangs in there, he did NOT want to know where that came from.

“Hey, lady Jenkins is this important, because I really have to get to work right now.” As he said this, his body was already turning to continue his commute.

Whooosh! One moment there was nothing but an empty road and the next a shopping cart blocked his path. At this, he looked up to make eye contact with the lady wielding the ninja shopping cart.

“You should listen to your elders, especially when they go out of their way. You know I hate coming down here on weekdays.”

That’s right, he remembered. Apparently, people dumped more cans on the weekend over here. He didn’t know if it was true but it was what she said so it may as well be.

“Then what brings you up this way?”

She gave him a shrewd once over before speaking. “ I have come to pass on a message. The voices in the night are calling for you”

“Voices in the night?”

She sighed in obvious impatience. “Yes yes, the voices that call out in our dreams. Those of us, know there is more to life than meets the eye. Why are you not listening to the little one's Jack?”

“I have nothing to offer them.” He growled back at her. “I’m just another joe rushing to get to work so he can make rent. What can these voices expect from me?”

Tsk tsk, she clucked. “I know you better than that. I know this is eating you up inside. You are young and full of potential. Just let go of it all and answer the call. What do you really have to lose?”

At this, she withdrew her cart and ambled off towards the direction of downtown. He knew that he couldn’t just shrug off her words. She had a reputation for always being right. At least, among the outcasts she did. Most ‘good citizens’ called her crazy and threw dollar bills at her to make her leave. Whenever that happened, she just casually asked if that meant they wanted a show. Guess how that ends!

He turned in the direction of work and saw several drifters peering his way. He waved at those that he knew. Ding Dong! Jack cursed his luck. That’s a shift change. Wasting no time Jack sped off towards the dock district.

Imagine a graveyard for shredded tires built on top of a thousand pounds of rotten fish guts. Oh yeah, throw in some acrid smoke from the local metal foundry. That is what the docks smell like to him. Though by the extra strong smell Jack realized they must have pulled a double last night. This was not good.

At last, Jack arrived outside of a matte black building. It had once been a nice brick red, but years of shredded rubber and tar had stained it permanently. The windows were so foggy they barely allowed sunlight to pass through, giving the place a morbid ambiance. Oh, how he hated this place. Doing his best to go both fast and unnoticed, Jack made a beeline for the time clock.

“DON’T YOU DARE SCAN THAT BADGE!” A rough voice boomed from across the hall. At this everyone turned towards the voice, then to the target of the voice's rage. Slowly, a large figure waded through the crowd like a barge cutting through waves. He was a big man with little pig eyes and scarred hands. His nose had been broken many times and he had that menace that can only be attained after cracking many, many bones. “Get out of my factory punk. You don’t have what it takes to work here.”

“Carl, please don’t do this.” Jack pleaded. “I need this job. No one else will hire a minor.”

“Too late!” Carl interrupted. “I gave you several chances, you blew them. What’s your excuse this time? A man fell onto the train tracks? Punks pick on a rich broad on the wrong side of town? What lie are you gonna tell me today?”

Veins bulged on Jacks's temples and his hands clenched into fists. “Are you calling me a liar?” He hissed at the giant.

The crowd of onlookers cleared out at this point, leaving a circle of open space as they jeered and started taking bets.

Jack charged.

Three hours later there was a pop as an ambulance bounced out of yet another pothole. The back doors opened wide to reveal a small figure wrapped in bandages. Said figure was unceremoniously pushed from the back of the cab before it rushed off into the distance, squeaking ominously.

After Carl had beaten him black and blue someone had called an ambulance. This however was not helpful because Carl knew everyone on this side of town. He had marched a broken Jack up to the EMTs before explaining that a broke bum had attacked him and this was purely self-defense. They compromised by bandaging him up before dumping him at home.

That wasn’t all however because the super was at the door waiting. The fatty had flounced over to frisk him for his keys, and cash, before getting in a few kicks of his own.

It was all over. His whole world consisted of the cracked sidewalk he lay on and a soft breeze. Darkness swallowed his mind. He floated. There was no time, no bills, no stress, and no pain. It was time to rest. That was when he heard the whispers. “Save us! Protect us! Share your fire!”

Why not. He thought. I have nothing to lose. Slowly, tenuously jack reached for the whispers. An itching sensation blossomed in his center. It grew until his whole body was suffused in warmth. Light erupted from his veins as if his blood was made of fire. On instinct, born of the fact that only death and disgrace awaited him if he turned back, he fed himself to the conflagration and became Fire.