Cinderlass

Beep. Beep. Beep. The beeping grew louder. My eyes fluttered open to see curtain rings. Where was I? I was in a bed, but it was not my bed. I was in a hospital, the glowing incandescent lights hurt to look at directly. Just then, an African American man walked into my room, he stood tall maybe taller than six feet. He wore a doctor's coat, and he held a tablet in his hands.

"Are you, my doctor?" I asked and my voice sounded low and rough, my tongue felt like sandpaper.

"I could be," he said and flashed a white perfect smile, and he looked up from his tablet and his warm brown eyes looked at me. "No, my name is Jon Johnston, and I am here to run some more tests," he said, and his voice was relaxing nearly like Morgan Freeman's voice but sounded younger.

"Tests?" I choked from my dry throat.

"Yes, you were in an accident and your family has some special talents," he said.

The word accident triggered something, I was in an airplane crash, I remember screaming blacking out and then...I am in the hospital. It sounded like my family was fine though.

"It seems your body temperature is not even, one moment you are running a fever and the next your ice cold. I cannot wrap my finger around it," he said and left the room.

"wait!" I cried with my dried up throat and I tried to get his attention, then in the corner of my bed a flame erupted engulfing the bed, but I felt no heat from it. It felt cool, almost water like. Jon rushed back in and the fire extinguished.

"I saw that," he said with fascination in his eyes.

"You're a fire girl," he said. "Cinderlass."