It was a long walk to the modest downtown area of Holland, Ohio. Holland's strip was full of red-bricked locally owned stores, and towards the outskirts was the music venue Exchange. A crumby building that was old and needed renovations but still had a stage, a bar, and bathrooms that were serviceable.

The line began to form in the parking lot. The glowing neon blue and white sign for Exchange wasn't on yet. That sign held most of the charm, although I heard bands always enjoyed performing there.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and I arrived an hour before the doors were supposed to open. A line was wrapping around the building. People were wearing clothes similar to mine. Tight-fitting shirts, blue jeans, leather jackets, denim jackets, obnoxious graphic tees, and plenty of people with dyed hair and piercings covered the parking.

I had a few compliments on my mohawk, but aside from that, I went unnoticed. I got to the back of the line and waited. Two cute girls and a guy were waiting in front of me, chatting. I wished I could be involved in their conversation, but I didn't even know what I would say. Perhaps something like, is this your first time seeing Cerebral Vortex? Have you been to Exchange before?

It was the second show I had been to at Exchange. The first time was earlier in the month; I went alone. I wondered where the people lived or went to school because I didn't recognize anyone in the line. Then again, I didn't know too many juniors and seniors, and no one in my grade or the grade above me was interested in shows at Exchange.

More people stood in line behind me, and I felt anger build after hearing someone say, "That guy with the mohawk is so tall. I hope he doesn't stand in front of me."

I can't even fit in amongst people that like the same thing as me.

I reached into my pocket and checked my phone. My mom tried calling me a few times. She texted me, "Why didn't you tell me you were going to a concert? You can't behave like this! Who are you even going with?"

"Sorry, I'll text you when I'm on my way home. I went by myself," I texted.

Still waiting in line, I saw a couple, a guy and a girl, walk up. The guy was a few inches shorter than me but built with a similar physicality. The girl he was holding hands with was stunning. Her beauty had me in a trance. Her long, red, curly hair hypnotized me.

Oh no, I've probably been looking at her too long. I must look like a creep.

My blood ran cold

Her boyfriend was glaring at me. He had a beard, long, slicked-back hair, and plenty of punk pins on his denim jacket.

I shifted my focus to the front of the line and took a deep breath.

It's okay, Rollie, just don't look at either of them again and you'll be okay. Maybe they won't get to see the show since the line is brutal and the tickets are first come, first serve.

The line crawled forward while I waited patiently until it was my turn to go inside.

"This show is for 16 and up," the bouncer said to me. "Are you 16?"

"Yes, I am," I lied without hesitation.

"Do you have any ID on you? School ID works too."

"Nah I didn't bring it with me and I don't have my license yet."

The bouncer narrowed his eyes at me and exhaled. "Go ahead, but you can't get a wristband."

"No problem," I said. The wristbands were for drinking alcohol, and I wasn't planning on trying to do that.

The venue was a flat space with a bar on the left. There was a crowd of people already at the front. I got as close as I could to the stage on the right side. I figured I wouldn't be blocking anyone if I watched the show from an angle. I never thought I would have this much height. It wasn't until that year when I hit a growth spurt to 6'3, 6'6 with the mohawk.

More people filled the dance floor. Overdriven guitar and screaming vocals came over the PA for ambient noise. The stage lights were on, washed with blue. A few soft LED lights outlined the bar and the hallway to the bathrooms.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I surveyed behind me and to my left was the beautiful girl with the bearded boyfriend. Gazing at her, it felt like time slowed down like no one else was around in the music venue.

"Hey man, don't you know it's rude to stare at people? And creepy," the boyfriend said to me.

He was right. "Yeah, I'm really sorry." I focused back on the stage. My heart was racing. Part of me felt a little bit of rage build in my chest.

"You didn't have to say anything," I overheard his girlfriend talking to him.

“Are you serious? He stopped. I'm glad I said something," he replied.

"But you don't know who this guy is. He might fly off the handle. I'm not trying to start any trouble."

"He's the one who's starting it."

The stage went black, the pre-show music cut out, and fog emerged from the sides of the stage. Everyone started clapping and cheering.

Cerebral Vortex walked on the stage in the dark and picked up their instruments. The thrashing guitars began, and the deafening drums hammered on.

The lead singer shouted into the microphone, and everyone in the venue bounced around as a mosh pit formed. I joined in, tossed around by a wall of people. Others in the center threw their arms around wildly, but I dodged everyone who stood out alone. I was pushed by the crowd, having a blast.

The next thing I knew, I got blasted on the left side of my face. I hit the floor like a pile of bricks. I had seen someone get knocked to the ground before, and someone helped that person up instantly, but I lay for too long. The music kept going, and I felt someone trample on my back.

"Stop!" I roared as I shot back up.

"My bad, dude," said the scrawny guy who stepped on me.

I shoved him with all my might. "You can't apologize? Didn't you see I was on the ground?" I shouted as if I was a drill sergeant.

The scrawny kid's eyes widened, and he got shoved back into the mosh pit and made sure to avoid me.

The beautiful girl's boyfriend was standing right next to me, grinning.

"What are you smiling at?" I barked at him.

"I'm just laughing because that was instant karma. But if I catch you looking at my girl again, you won't be getting back up off the ground."

"Where is she standing so I know not to look at her?" I asked. I scanned through the crowd and saw her standing along the wall of the mosh pit. I stared at her and smiled.

"Never mind, I spotted her," I said, followed by the most obnoxious smirk I could produce.

The guy took a deep breath and crushed me with a haymaker to my right eye. I hit the ground instantly for the second time.

I heard a few gasps.

The people around us stopped moving. I jumped back up, and I shoved the guy into the wall of people. They bounced him back toward me, and I cocked back my fist and charged up the most potent punch possible. The music still blasted, but the adrenaline rushing through me and the blood going to my head muted everything.

I only focused on knocking this guy out.

As he returned to me, I socked him with a right fist, but it was unlike any punch I've ever thrown. Even with my previous anger outbursts in life where I unleashed everything on my bedroom wall, this was different. This punch was powered by something I didn't understand.

The guy collapsed, holding his face while screeching.

The music stopped, and everyone looked at me. Not a word was said. I had no idea Exchange could get so quiet, but I could have heard a pin drop.

I took a deep breath and noticed something strange.

My hand was on fire.

My hand was engulfed in a quiet flame.

My eyes bulged.

I didn't feel anything burn.

No pain at all.

Just a flame consuming my entire hand.

The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. The guy I punched had half of his face burned.

People around me screamed, and I joined them. I put my hand on my chest and tried suffocating the fire, and I was successful. Over the heads of the audience, I could see the guys dressed in all-black security clothes making their way toward me.

I could feel my body's fight-or-flight responses kick in, and I chose flight. Sprinting out of the center of the crowd, I went down a hallway, shoved the emergency exit door open, and raced home. On my way, I pressed my mohawk until it was flattened. I zipped off my jacket and held it as I dashed into a neighborhood. I ran until it felt like no one else was around, or no one was looking for me.

Taking a deep breath, I took a long way home, a leisurely stroll the rest of the way. I took my time, I wanted to go inside the house while my parents were sleeping, so I even walked through a park in the neighborhood with large houses, many of them two stories. It was practically a gated community but without a gate. I sat at a table underneath the gazebo and texted my mom. "I'll be home around midnight. I made a friend at the show, and we're getting food afterward."

It was 10:30 p.m. I waited in the park for another hour before leaving. The entire time I sat at the table, I stared at my hands, perplexed about what had happened. It felt like a dream.

Why did my hand spark a blaze?

How come the fire didn't hurt me?

Maybe I could recreate the fire again?

I tried thinking of thoughts that stirred some rage, but no fire came out of my hands. I thought about the guy from the concert and swung my fists in the air pretending to punch his face. Still, there was no flame at my fingertips.

When it came time to walk back home, the neighborhoods were all silent. Nothing but orange glows from street lamps kept me company.

Entering my house, I slid the key in and slowly unlocked the entrance, barely making a sound. I tiptoed through the dark to the bathroom, pressed the door closed, turned on the light, and looked in the mirror. Nothing was out of the ordinary about how I looked except the black bruise around my eye.

What would I tell my parents? What would be the excuse that would upset my mom the least? If I said I got it in the mosh pit, I probably wouldn't be allowed to go to concerts anymore for a little while. It would probably sound too much like a lie if I said something else happened.

I took a deep breath, went into my bedroom, and plopped onto my bed, falling asleep within a few minutes.