That day, standing in the shade staring at the candles flickering on my best friends coffin, I found out my inheritance from him.

I had been trying to light the candles for his funeral but they wouldn't stay lit because of the wind. I had been frustrated and told the flames to stay on fire and they had grown a bit before shrinking and staying lit. They stayed lit no matter how bad the wind got, and provided the perfect setting for such an event.

Weeks later, we were called into his will reading, and the lawyer stated that some of the content seemed to be jokes that only certain people knew about. When his will was read, some people received material items like his collection of books or his strange collection of precious ores and others received things like "inheritance of my pyro kinesis" or "my knowledge of all otherworldly matters" and "politics of spiritualism" Some of them believed that they had done something to receive nothing, perhaps they had wronged him in some way or they had ignored him before his passing.

I knew the truth. My friend had changed and he had been gone for a bit when we were younger. He came back and taught me about all these wild things he had learned about, from talking to spirits, or learning to harness the "magics of the world". And then he stopped talking about them, claiming that he had just been playing a joke.

I guess, that he had learned of something because he refused to talk about it but always told us we'd learn to someday. Seeing the candles flicker and go out tells me that my friend has learned how to do something incredible and that I received a gift from an old friend.

It was in a sealed envelope.

Benji had known the end was coming and he had written each person a letter in that final week in the hospital. Some envelopes were thick, full to bursting with wadded paper, and other envelopes were thin, like Mike’s.

“I inherited this from my uncle.” He wrote. “Pyrokinesis is no joke. Don’t muck about with it, and DON’T TELL ANYONE. My uncle was killed for it, I was killed for it, you will be killed for it. I think if anyone stands a chance, it’s you Mike. You have the best poker face - use that.”

Mike paled thinking about the candles at Benji’s funeral, how the last match had gone out before he could light his candle and he had relit it with only a thought. Had anyone seen?

“Tips;” the letter continued. “Trust no one. I mean no one Mike. Burn this letter, in private, use matches, they will be watching everyone I touched or hugged goodbye before I died.

They want you for nothing good, don’t go thinking they’re looking for you to put out forest fires. They think pyrokinesis could be a gateway to other kinesis.

They will dig me up and dissect my brain like they did my uncle, so don’t be surprised to hear I am missing, but for the love of god act surprised.

This is not an emotional power, but emotion can and will rule your desire to use it. It can happen in the blink of an eye, a wandering thought about a weekend bonfire can bring a bonfire up right in front of you. If you’ve just done that, think about rain and it going right out. It goes both ways.

To hone this gift, You need to learn the difference between thinking about fire and summoning fire, they will pretty much be one and the same when you start out. You are so logical, I hope this is easier for you than it was for me. The learning is where they catch you. Mistakes are so easy at the start. Please be careful Mike.

P.s. don’t run. That’s how they caught Emily.”

Emily? Mike looked around. He was hurt. Benji had never mentioned anyone called Emily before, had he? Not only that, but his letter was so abrupt. Here, have this curse that killed me, goodluck bud! Not so much as a mention of their lifelong friendship, not so much as a farewell our friendship has mattered and I want the best for you… no, just this curse and a few vague tips about controlling it. Why had he never mentioned any of this? Had Benji not trusted him either? He scanned the letter again hoping the words were a joke or would change, but it looked serious.

He screwed the paper up into a ball angrily and went and flushed it down the toilet instead. If they, whoever they were, wanted the letter, they were going to have to wade through rivers of shit to get it.

Well, Benji might have run from the fight, but that wasn’t Mike’s style. Let them come when they would. He’d burn them all down, if he really had such power. He picked up his keys and grabbed his swim bag. He was 10minutes late thanks to that crummy letter and he had a feeling practicing the difference between imagined fire and summoned fire would be much more subtle under water anyway.

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