Dreams to Fire chapter 7

The summer’s heat transforms the pavement into a simmering cement pan on the first of July. Fy is out at a convenience store, picking up some groceries for the house. She stands at an amazonian six foot three inches tall, and while she intimidates the guy at the counter, she automatically attracts his attention as well. She’s dressed in her casual, everyday, functional clothes. Clothes that don’t do a thing to hide the attention-grabbing Super-Human voluptuous woman she has become.

Fy is now nineteen years old. And her towering height carries a presence as powerful as it peaceful. Her immediate impression is that of an incarnated Goddess, of a celestial elven beauty that could ignite a war of the ages.

Fy has rejected every offer for a date, from both males and females. She has yet to find what she’s looking for. Justin is the only person she’s slept with, and the more people she meets the more it seems it will stay that way. For Fy, despite how beautiful the flesh can be, it’s simply another layer of soul.

A TV above them is blaring out news as the guy at the counter says, “Never seen you around here before. Or seen a Super-Human with such big… ears. Will that be all for you?”

Normally, Fy’s voice is a mature vixen’s radiating with the pleasures of life. But here, her tone sends a real clear message, “That will be all.”

“Okay. Okay.”

The urgent voice of the newscaster above overpowers the beeps of him checking her out, “…Around third street because the area has become a war-zone. Gunshots erupted a short while ago in the area and it’s rumored that two rival gangs are the cause of it all. Law enforcement is caught in the cross fire and everyone is advised to avoid the area at all costs. Even our news helicopter that captured this footage had to leave the area after being shot at. Channel three news will be staying on top of this horrific situation as it develops.”

“Oh crap that’s not far away from us. I hope we’re safe?”

Fy’s eyes are no longer the eyes of a beautiful woman’s—they are emeralds forged in the will of a warrior, not afraid to feel pain, take impossible risks, and go toe-to-toe with death itself.

“You are. Keep the change.”

She rushes out to her Firebird, forces the engine to roar alive, and peels off directly to the scene of war.

Gunshots erupt over the rumble of engine as she speeds toward her goal. She slams on the breaks, parks her car behind a building, gets out and runs on foot.

She advances to a cop car riddled with bullet holes, the tires blown out, and spots two cops hiding in an alleyway. One of the officers is laying down on the pavement, while the other tends to him. She runs over to them.

“Lady what the hell are you doing? This place is a war-zone! Get outta here,” the cop says as he presses a bandage against his partner’s reddening chest. He’s so worried about his comrades situation he doesn’t even think that with her ears she must be a Super-Human. Dark red gradually replaces the wounded cop’s blue shirt.

Shouting over the gunfire she says, “I’m doing the right thing. Let’s get him to the hospital, my car is right down the street,” Fy glances into the wounded man’s eyes.

And watches his final exhale into death snap the life from them, like a cord that has been there for so long no one notices until it’s cut.

The gunshots dwindle away. Powerful silence seeps into every last corner of her awareness. The perception of clock-time melts before the spiritual blaze beyond mind. All emotion is redirected into the timeless sacred duty to protect life, to defend what is right. And in an instant, all of it explodes into infinite purpose.

A human energy-spark of immeasurable potential manifests at the base of her spine. The spark spiral-explodes up through her spine like two entwining streams of light set ablaze by the willpower of a Warrior guided by the blessings of the Goddess. The energy radiates throughout every last cell of her body and rage-bursts forth into a scorching inferno-aura of living blue flames around her, into a super-fire shield crackling with supreme power. Every source of fuel for Fy’s fire is a wrong in the world, and every crackle of flame is a note of her song called righteous anger.

The cop’s partner of many years dies before him. He looks up to the beautiful big eared stranger, sees her fierce expression, her transformed inhuman eyes—and realizes this is exactly where this scorching Super-Human belongs.

The normal white of her eyes has been replaced with pure jet-black. Her irises still look normal, but their green is now impossibly intense, far beyond human. Within the black of her eyes, rising from the bottom to the center top, symmetrical emerald flames dance behind her irises. An otherworldly forest hued light emanates from them, like beacons at the top of a magician’s staff. In a dead-serious warrior’s voice she says to the man, “Stay here.”

Surrounded by both warmth and wraith, she intuitively knows what’s she capable of. Her everyday mind isn’t allowed any thought.

She runs right into the thick of the gunfight where bullets are being exchanged back and forth with deafening consistency. The bullets meet their match against a burning shield made of flames unlike any other. This is not what a lighter or campfire produces.

This is Fyrona Caroline’s fire, and it has the power to flick on density, to become blazing solidness that can essentially catch the bullets in a conflagration of concreteness. Within Fy’s fire is an automatic awareness all its own of what must be done. Her living blue inferno-aura is a superpowered expression of her unconscious mind.

As the bullets enter the perimeter of her blazing shield, deep blue bursts of flame form to catch and slow them down while also instantly melting them to liquid. The little lead bringers of death meet there match and litter onto the pavement in tiny puddles of rapidly cooling discs of canceled misery, like unmarked and misshapen worthless coins.

The gang members are equipped for war with various different guns and bullet-proof armors. She doesn’t know what started this conflict, or why they are so keen on killing each other and anyone caught in the crossfire, but this is the reality before her. And it must be dealt with. They’re all artistically colored with their gang’s unique flair, and while they are suited up for war they’re not invincible. Many lay dead.

Amidst the gunfire Fy shoots out accurate non-lethal small fireballs from within the safety of her blue fire shield, at every gun in sight. She fires off to one side, then the other, back and forth in rapid succession. The guns explode like fireworks that should not have been played with, burning their wielders with horrific wounds to remind them of this dreadful day.

It doesn’t take long before most of the gang members from both sides are disarmed, and they’re all running in fear from scene. Fy overhears one of them shout, “Who the hell is this Super-Human bitch!”

The cops move in but the situation remains rudderless and dangerous. She assists them with arrests, easily overpowering the gang member’s undying resistance. Most of them are violent even when it’s clear they’ve lost, as if they weren’t in control of their own actions. She’s forced to knockout a number of them, but they remain breathing. The cops have no idea who this towering Super-Human woman is, but they are nonetheless thankful she’s here.

The atmosphere of danger and death finally fades away, and the dust begins to settle. Cops and ambulances are suddenly everywhere, and Fy sticks around to help out however she can. Gang members, cops, and some innocent bystanders are among the dead. All of them gone without a clear reason.

Fy finishes talking with an officer, when a pompous, first-on-every-story reporter shows up.

People suffer and die because of someone else’s insanity. Are there truly no cures for the diseases of mind? Will anyone out there bother to ask-

“Hello there! The Super-Human Heroine with the fire powers, big ears and so much more! You’ve saved a lot of lives here today, what’s your name honey?” The reporters voice is way over the top. He’s kinda short, especially next to her impressive height, but he gets his mic right up in her face, along with his cameraman.

“Uh, Fyrona.”

“Well that’s a beautiful and different name. Where did you come from? I saw everything from our helicopter camera, you’re amazing! You took on both gangs and came out unscathed. Weren’t you scared of being shot?”

”No. Somehow I knew I could do that.”

“You mean to tell me, you didn’t know if you could stop bullets but you rushed out into the middle of a full-scale gunfight anyway? It’s incredible that you would risk yourself like that. You’re a hero honey! And it’s been decades since we last had a hero.”

“I guess so. I was just doing the right thing.”

“Well, we all know every hero needs a hero’s name. So what’s yours?”

“I… I don’t have one.”

Fy catches him checking out her fantasy-worthy curvaceous figure jumped right off the pages of a comic book. “Well, it needs to be something fitting for someone as… hot as you.”

The look on her face says more than a dozen lectures ever could.

But she does think about it, taking an awkward amount of time for a live news broadcast.

Finally, she confidently grins, and looks right into the camera, “How about: ‘The Blue Fyre of Anger.’ And that’s Fyre with a Y.”

“The Blue Fyre of Anger. With a Y. I love it! Well miss Fyre, where are you heating up things next?”

She gives him a cold stare. “I’m going home and eating a home cooked meal with my family.” She looks into the camera with genuine compassion, “My heart goes out to everyone affected by this tragedy. I did all I could, and I’ll continue to do so in the future. I know Super-Human’s seem to have stopped caring, but they haven’t. You’re looking at one who deeply cares, about life, peace, and doing the right thing. My deepest condolences to you all. Be seeing you.”

She walks off to her car. The reporter eventually looks back into the camera. “This has been the hottest first of July ever. It’s been so long since a Super-Human did anything like what we saw here today. Hopefully we’ll be seeing plenty more of her. This was a tragedy, but The Blue Fyre of Anger prevented it from being far worse. Remember, Miss Fyre was brought to you first by Channel three news.”

She gets back into her Firebird, the groceries still good, and continues on her way. As she drives, she finally faces down what she has been thinking about for months. She stops dabbling, and comes to a decision. She’s not going to hide from the world any longer. She’s going to do the exact opposite.

All the wisdom in the world is worth nothing if no attention is directed at it.

* * *

Dinner time is over at the Caroline’s home, and everyone is full and happy. Before they leave the table, Fy needs to announce, and explain, her decision to her grandparents.

“Pat? George? I need to tell you guys something. And seek, at the very least, your acceptance…”

“Go on,” Patricia says.

No matter what she says, she knows her grandparents would still love her, and would still accept her. She says with complete confidence, “I’m going to become a nude model and erotic dancer. I want to continue with my mother’s ideas on getting attention. See how they play out. I’m not going to support or engage in anything that degrades my own sense of Self-worth, or my beauty as a woman—I’m going to do the exact opposite. My integrity is primary. I want to show, to prove, much like Erica did, that just because a person is sexually expressive doesn’t mean they are shallow, immoral, or wrong. Celebrating sexuality just means being human.”

Patricia almost blushes, as does George, while they glance at each other remembering the first time they heard those words. Patricia says, “More than accepted Fyrona. So long as it’s something you truly wish to do, for whatever your reasons, you go for it dear. You certainly have the beauty for it.”

George adds, “And the intelligence to do it right.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

Patricia nods, her smiling grandma face the most comforting thing Fy has ever known. Patricia says, “If you don’t mind me asking, what motivated you to decide this? You’ve got all the money you need for the rest of your life. Not that I’m disagreeing, there’s certainly nothing wrong with sex. Just curious to know.”

Fy takes a deep breath, deciding to keep it short. “There’s a lot of reasons. The main one is: I need to get people’s attention. Lots of attention. Positive or negative, it’ll be attention. I’m planning on doing a lot of writing and blogging on serious issues. I’m hoping to direct attention onto more than just me. And what better way to grab attention considering I’m getting so much already?”

Her grandparents chuckle. George says, “I can’t argue with that. I had to scare that last guy off twice.”

“Right! The main thing is, I wanna get people talking about what is objectively right and wrong, compared to what is just personal preference. It’s one of the things I’ve been working on, cooped up on my room. I’ll be blogging about how to think in more dimensions, how to understand the differences between knowing and believing, the Self and the Ego, and how your perception isn’t always reality. And most importantly, how to learn. Not what to learn. The school and TV don’t even mention what I’m gonna be talking about, in-depth, with all my passion. You can’t edit truth, you can only edit your perception of truth. People need to stop being so damn overly concerned with ultimately trivial matters, like the healthy enjoyment of porn. And instead be concerned with far more important ones.”

“Like what dear?”

Fy’s mouth smirks up. They know exactly what she is about to say.

Chapter 8