[ WP ] You are a pyrokinetic who tends to accidentally set things on fire when stressed . And today , you 're having a very bad day .

*Drugs. * 
 
 I thought as I bit into my breakfast. I went through the motions every day. Wake up. Eat. Work. Eat. Work. Browse. Eat. Contemplate. Sleep. A never ending cycle. 
 
 *Drugs. * 
 
 They were the only way the cycle could continue. A single unchecked emotion could spell disaster for any and all around. These days no such emotion existed. Love, joy, hate, fear — I had n't felt them at their fullest in years. 
 
 *Drugs. * 
 
 The chemical calm coursed through my veins as I watched strangers go about their days. The homeless man profusely thanked the passerby for his generous gift. I once would have sympathized with him. I once would have cared. Now if I helped him, it would n't be because I cared. The extra I had would essentially go to waste and could be used to make his day better. Utilitarianism. ish. 
 
 *Drugs. * 
 
 Across the street strangers pumped their tanks full of fuel. Some anxiously checked their watches. Others sang along to the radio. A group of teenagers danced in the car as they awaited their driver. A pair of bikers cast odd looks toward the teens then continued conversing. A lone woman glanced nervously at the drifter then went inside. 
 
 *Drugs. * 
 
 It did n't surprise me when the manager came out to shoo the vagrant away. Nor did it bother me. I wiped my mouth of biscuit crumbs and left a tip on the table. These were all just typical occurrences in the daily cycle. Tomorrow there would be a different set of people pumping gas. A different set of people stressed about the time. A different bum being sent away. And I would remain. Emotionless and apathetic as ever. 
 
 *Drugs. * 
 
 The only way the cycle continues. As I reached my pickup, I glanced at the station one last time. A mother struggled to keep up with her little girl while pumping her fuel. The daughter joyously jumped in a puddle, splashing water on her backpack. She was just like everyone else I would never be able to care about in the drum of life. Except she was n't. She reminded me of my daughter. The joy. The laughter. Such wonderful memories. 
 
 *My daughter. Sarah. * 
 
 The light of my life. My lips curled into the faintest of smiles. Where was she? Was she happy like she once was? Did she miss her daddy? Did she remember me? Her mother ran off with her after our third house burned. Liz had finally put the pieces together. She knew the fires were linked to me. She fled for her safety. She fled for Sarah's safety. Or so I assumed. Or so I told myself. I never pursued them for fear that it would cause severe stress. I did n't need that. No one needed that. Sarah did n't need that. Stress was the main cause of the problems I had, and I was unable to control the fire on my own. I needed the chemicals. I needed the calm. 
 
 *Drugs. * 
 
 The only way the triggers were suppressed. The smile had since disappeared from my face. The light of my life was gone and I could never get her back. It was best if I move on. It was best if I continue this unremarkable existence. It was best if I let the honking drag me back to reality. The honking. I quickly shook my head as the setting around me came back into focus. The honking was coming from down the road. A car recklessly wove between other vehicles. I cocked my head slightly as it clipped a jeep. Perhaps today would be memorable after all. Wrecks are n't standard occurrences in the daily drum of life. 
 
 **NO! ** 
 
 I screamed as I saw the path of the reckless driver. He careened toward the station. Toward the people. Toward the girl. In an instant I remembered my daughter, my wife, our family and the love we had. I remembered the financial stress. I remembered the sleepless nights. The alcohol. The fear that Liz was cheating. The shame when I found that she was n't. The depression. The anxiety. The stress. I remembered it all. I remembered the terror in her eyes when she saw the third fire begin. She had married a freak. She had loved a monster. The terror in her eyes would haunt me for the rest of my life. The car never made it to the little girl. The pent up emotions overcame the chemical calm. Sparks danced around the focus of my vision. Fumes caught. Liz's look of fear overlaid the catastrophe before my eyes. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 Many claimed the wreck caused the explosion. Some witnesses recalled the car never maked it to the pump. Perhaps a spark of static electricity ignited fumes. Perhaps someone lit a cigarette. The experts never agreed. The town was shaken up. Drivers acted abnormally safe and courteous. Pedestrians were extra careful while walking next to a road. The citizens slowly moved on from the freak accident. I did n't. I took a long list of descriptions of people I could never forget to my psychologist. He clearly believed me insane when I claimed I was the cause, but he tried to help me nonetheless. Anyone who had witnessed the incident needed help. I talked to my psychiatrist as well. The dosage was already nearing too much, so she refused to increase it. Without the increase, I needed to be much more cautious for a few months. I have done my best to move on with life, but my sleep is still haunted by that little girl's laughter.
