Silence filled the room as I  finished putting out the little fire. The one that burned inside of me. I have grown to love that fire but enough was enough. I had walked in front of my only friends and stuck the knife right into my heart. I lay on the floor, dead.

 Let's go back about 1 work year. I worked at a little coffee shop in New York City during the day and a actress at night. I had finished my work shift and started to leave the shop when I walked right into a man holding coffee and spilling it all over him. 

"You little bitch! You deserve to die! I have to go to work now and this is my fucking uniform!" The man screamed.

"I'm so sorry sir! I really didn't mean it!" I said politely. The man grunted and ran of.

Maybe I do deserve to die, I thought. I ran back home tears spilling from my eyes like a water fall. That man was very important he probably had some sort of big meeting to go to and I ruined his uniform. I thought. I cried my self to sleep that night. That was the story of the first flame. Little did I know that flame would spread to a fire.