I shall call you Flame

“Spawn!” yelled my father. “Go tend the fire!”

It is hard to respect someone, even your father if you do not get respect in return. I learnt that early on in my seven years of life and it has bugged my dad and my older brothers so much that someone so young looks upon them with such contempt.

I’m Pawn, Pawn O’Dell. My dad is Patrick, a foreman at the local slaughter house. My mum is Michelle, the Principal at my school. Mum is the one who named us all, dad was away at the factory. A lover of all things chess and chess related me ma named us all after the pieces. There is King, then Queen and Bishop. Knight followed after, then Rook and me. I’m the smallest and the youngest and mum says it seems like there are eight of me at once sometimes. I guess that is what bugs my dad so much. I guess too once I was born mum had the whole set so she was not so affectionate with dad since that final birth.

So I was reading by the firelight last Monday night and listening to the news with dad on the radio. He grunted something about my rustling pages too loudly or similar nonsense and I ignored him. It was our usual banter. There was all of a sudden an odd sound of something quite large flying over the house, something like a low flying plane or maybe a whale with wings. To me it sounded real big. Dad though didn’t even look up from his paper. He grumbled about the weather man’s prediction for the rest of the week and then upcapped his pen as he attempted the cryptic. It was then that there came the sound of something bouncing down our chimney. It hit the fire that was crackling merrily in the hearth and caused the flames to glow bright blue for the merest of seconds before the flames just extinguished.

That was when my father ordered my obedience.

Spawn was his nickname for me, a name my mother hated as did my sisters Queen and Rook. Knight seemed indifferent, preferring to exist in a world where he was an only child. King and Bishop are like my father and so they too used that term for me, calling me the spawn whenever the opportunity arose.

When I did not respond immediately to my father’s rumble he began to roll up the paper into a tight rod. I heard the lounge chair squeak as his bulk struggled free.

“Don’t make me come over there, little one,” dad growled.

Sighing I shut my book, one of Tolkien’s lesser known titles. Kneeling before the fireplace I used the poker to see if I could find any coals to coax back to life. In amongst the ash I found what looked like a little fledgling. It had pale feathers and its eyes were tightly shut. I found a tear formed at the corner of my right eye, sudden emotion overwhelming me at the sight of this poor creature that seemed to be dying.

“Hurry up, Spawn…” urged dad, impatient and irritable as usual when mum was out.

I tried to drag the baby bird to the side but razor sharp claws suddenly extended from the chick’s tiny feet. Scratch marks etched across the metal. The tiny bird burst as a ball of fire and caught what was left of the redwood cuttings. Amazed I added another piece from the woodpile and saw the bird seemed to enjoy the warmth. It opened its beak and scoffed some ash. Then it chirped; an emulation of the crackle of a roaring blaze.

“Took your sweet time, boy,” grumbled my dad. Behind that paper it seemed he had noticed nothing outside the norm.

“I shall call you Flame,” I whispered to the chick.

Book forgotten I was mesmerized by the flames and the way this little one seemed to dance among them. Its eyes bright and eager as it settled in the midst of the heat and flame.

Mum returned and called us all to the table. Food was spread out with all digging in for as much as we could as quick as winks. I nabbed a couple of pieces of battered fish and a handful of crispy fries before King could douse the whole lot in white vinegar and then smother it all in a snowdrift of salt.

“Mine!” announced Knight, using his fork to spear one of my fish. I came away with only a piece and a half then.

“Knight please leave your little brother alone,” pleaded me ma.

“Michelle, they just being boys,” growled my dad.

Mum was obviously not happy with that response but she argued no further.

Like my brothers and sisters, I overheard mum’s punishment that night. I snuggled up to Flame and watched it glow for me, a nightlight that gently warmed me and lulled me back to sleep.

In a week I shall be eight and my birthday wish would be to go away with my mum and with flame. It would be far away from the disrespect and the threats and that violence in the quiet darkness of the night. I know if you tell anyone your wish it does not come true. So that is why I only whisper my wish to Flame. With each whisper, each shared wish, each night nestled in the warm coals of the nigh fire I see Flame grow. Slow at first, but as my birth date draws nearer and my chance to wish becomes keenly close I admire the beauty of Flame’s feathers, orange and blue with a slight tinge of red. Flame has grown, now the size of a bantam. It has become more and more difficult to hide this creature I had found amongst the ash. Dad was not one known for his brightness but my brothers and sisters were far more clued. Mum was my greatest worry though, that she should discover my little friend before we had the chance to make my wish come true.

A week flies by fast, especially when you are almost eight. Flame is now the size of a puppy. Little fires like candle light fleck its wings and its coloring is becoming darker. The orange has turned purple and red, that which was orange is now charcoal and jet-black. Flame lived under my bed until the bed almost caught fire in the night. After that it roosted in the tree by my bedroom window. The little ball of fire that made a nest within the trunk hollow kept me company all night long. Even so far I was gifted warmth from the glow of my friend.

On the eve of my eighth my father shoved me. I was brazen with Flame so close and I said enough to cause a rise. As King and Knight both raced in they witnessed my pa with his belt raised high.

“Take that back, Spawn!” he roared.

The belt descended before I had the chance.

I felt a sadness come over me as I saw King and Knight smiling.

From where it hid within the hearth, Flame burst forth. As the belt arose again my little friend exploded. A fireball ripped through my father and brothers and half of the lounge. Flame became a beautiful golden hew. I called it to my side and it came happily, willingly.

As mum appeared she screamed. The scene of her husband and her sons singed and dying she somehow ignored. What drew from that wonderful woman such a primal sound was the stream of blood pouring down my face.

“Let’s leave, ma,” I begged, taking her soft hand in mine.

Ma nodded, slow and steadily.

It seems wishes do come true. And I got mine a day early.