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That night, like every night, I dreamt of fire. Fire, ravaging a strange, mystical city the likes of which I'd never seen. I dreamt of a dark man with golden eyes, a woman with a black, spidery-headress. And I see a rainbow bridge.

And like always, before I could piece it all together, I woke up.

I awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, opening my eyes and pushing myself up. My bed was against the wall opposite the window, so the light of the rising run slanted through the window directly into my face. I raised a hand to shield against it, looking to my right. Mae was slipping on her uniform and tying back her short black bob into a tiny ponytail, and Gale was sitting atop the desk, sipping at their cup of coffee. Our small, rented-out motel room always seemed the smallest in the mornings.

"Morning," Gale waved as I came to my surroundings.

"Is it that time already?" I groaned, slinking out of bed to pour myself a cup of coffee.

I took it black, something Gale, a fellow coffee nut, often made fun of me for, but I ignored them because I liked the bitterness of it. I took in a deep breath of it, letting the warm aroma consume me.

"Another long night?" Mae asked, her cheery voice a little too cheery so bright and early in the morning.

"Uh huh," I nodded my head, taking a sip of coffee before continuing, "And another one tonight. They called me in for another night shift."

"Seriously? How many people come in at midnight anyways?" Gale asked.

"I'm usually too tired to count, but if I did, I'd only have to use my one hand," I responded sleepily.

"They're taking advantage of you, you know that? They know you're young and you need work, so they're using that to get you to work the shifts no one else wants," Gale continued, setting down their emptied coffee mug and sliding off the desk, making their way over to the mirror to tease their closely cropped brown hair.

"Your hair looks fine," I said, "Not that you've got enough of it to actually style in the first place."

Mae snorted, and Gale swatted a hand at us, shaking their head.

"All I'm saying is that you really need to find work somewhere else. You're always gonna be working meaningless jobs that you hate and that take advantage of you unless you pursue something you really love."

"Says the cook at White Castle," I pointed out.

"For your information, Ali, I love to cook," Gale said. They were the only one who ever called me Ali. To everyone else I was Alivia.

"Well how do you know I don't like gas stations? Filling tanks could be my life's aspiration."

"The only people who actually like gasoline are the junkies that sniff it," Gale said with a chortle, "You're an artist, hon, why not try to find a job at an art store? Or a museum?"

"A museum isn't going to take someone like me. And New York is like a hub for aspiring artists, and they flock to art store jobs. I'd have better luck trying to become rich and famous off of my own art," I said.

"Well you are very talented," said Mae sweetly, "Just promise me that when you do become a billionaire artist, you don't forget about your two best friends."

I laughed, "How could I forget you, you two certainly leave a lasting impression."

"I will choose to take that as a compliment," Mae said with a smile, turning to open the door, "See you later."

With that, she vanished. Another thing that sucked about working nightshifts at a gas station; I wouldn't see Mae again until the next morning, and even then it would be a very brief encounter like today. Gale didn't leave until noon for their job, so I was able to see them more often, but I hated how my stupid shifts interrupted my social life. Not that I had much of one before I picked up that job.

I swallowed the last dregs of my coffee, cringing at the incredibly bitter taste the last few swills packed.

Gale returned to their bed, flipping through a book on their nightstand. I sauntered over to the desk, reaching into the bottommost compartment which had been reserved for me, where I pulled out my latest sketch. I extracted a pencil that was pretty much a nub, making a mental note to buy more soon and praying I'd be able to spare the money for the supplies.

I bided the rest of the morning and late into the afternoon drawing, pausing. I scrolled around on my phone, flipped through some channels on the tv, and played a game of solitaire, just waiting around for the clock to strike five.

I threw my hair into a ponytail, and didn't bother with any makeup. No reason to get dolled up for a gas station graveyard shift.

I pulled on my uniform, and looked in the mirror, straightening it. My name tag, A. Byrd, reflected backwards at me. I looked up, scanning my appearance to make sure I looked decent. I cringed when my eyes met with their reflection. I'd received my fair share of compliments for them, but I'd grown so tired of the looks and the questions. People asking if I was wearing contacts, if I was born with eyes like that, if I was sick or injured, people even going so far as to say I was an attention seeker for 'making' my eyes look the way they did.

But I hadn't chosen to have hetrochromic eyes. And even if I had, I certainly would not have chosen the colour scheme I got stuck with. My right eye was a deep black-brown. But my right eye—Sometimes I had the urge to just cover it up with an eye patch, I hated the attention it drew so much. It was a vibrant amber, almost orange. My eyes looked like they were all decked out for Halloween. I scowled, shaking my head and turning for the door.

One subway ride and a long walk later, I was sitting behind the counter at the gas station, as people and cars whizzed by outside. A few people strolled in looking to buy a hot dog, some kids flocked to the slurpies and candy isles, and a handful of customers purchased some gas, but overall, the going was slow, and I struggled to keep my eyes from falling closed.

Soon, the sun vanished, and fluorescent lighting flooded the white-tiled room, an ugly, glaring brightness that hurt my head.

Bleary with exhaust, I moved my eyes up to the clock, which read two in the morning. I got off in two hours. I sighed, slumping my head down on the counter and letting my eyes flicker closed.

Before I could succumb to my fatigue, however, the sound of the bell above the door tinkled throughout the small store, and I straightened up, plastering a smile on my face to greet the customers. My smile faltered a little when I saw them.

There were three hooded men ambling through the door, and the last one cast a glance over his shoulder through the glass at the dead quiet street outside. I slid off my stool, swallowing the lump in my throat as the men sauntered over to the counter. I urged myself to relax, I was being dramatic. They were just here to pay for their gas.

I was wrong.

The frontmost one, as soon as he'd reached the counter, extracted a gun from his pocket, orienting it at my abdomen.

Without saying anything, he just pointed at the register, silently ordering me to fork over the money. There wasn't much to begin with. I felt my body stiffen with fear. Would I lose my job over this? Would I lose my life over this? Over some stupid gas station job I never even wanted in the first place?

Then, I felt a hot, burning sensation in the palms of my hand, and my panic only increased. No, not now. This couldn't be happening right now, I needed to get my nerves in check.

"Th-There are cameras—"

"I know there are fucking cameras, I'm not stupid," the man spat, pushing the gun into my stomach, which tensed against the cool metal, "Give us the money. Now, damnit, I'm not asking!"

I jumped, my shaky hands fumbling for the register as I tried to calm down. If things got too tense, it could end very badly. For all four of us. Maybe even the buildings surrounding us. I had to get myself under control.

I opened up the cash register, grabbing a handful of cash. The moment I extended my hand, offering it to them, though, the paper went up in flames. My eyes widened. Shit, shit, shit.

"What the hell?" One of the other men frowned, reaching for my wrist to inspect how I'd done it.

I shrank away from him, but he grabbed hold of me anyhow.

"Fuck!" he reeled back the moment his fingers touched my skin, which I knew was likely searing to the touch.

"You bitch," the third man cursed, grabbing me by the hair and wrenching me over the counter.

I yelped as I was lifted off my feet and dragged across the counter, before being dropped on my side on the cold tile floor. I bit back a cry of pain as I heard my shoulder crack, and then felt a bolt of pain shoot up my arm. I'd probably dislocated it.

"Get the money yourself if there's any left of it," the man with the gun ordered one of his accomplices, who rushed behind the counter to steal what remained of the money.

The armed man turned to me next, "You just cost me a wad of cash, you freak," he spat, kicking me in the gut.

The kick hurt, the insult didn't. I'd been called that and far worse before. His partner who I'd burned got in a good kick too, and I heard another painful crack in my ribs. Just as the armed man went back for another kick, I made the stupid mistake of lifting my hands to defend myself. He released a harrowing cry as his pantleg caught fire. He shook it off as the third man came back around the counter, revealing a crowbar I hadn't seen before. I pushed myself up, fighting past the roaring pain in my shoulder and ribs, scuttling backwards as fast as I could. I lifted my arm to block my face as the crowbar came down on me, striking the bone of my forearm and rattling me. I felt a surge of fear as he winded up again with it. And with my fear, came more heat. And flames. I saw them start to eat up my hands, though they didn't hurt me. If I let it grow any stronger, it could potentially react with the gas and blow us all to hell.

"Please," I said, though whether it was to them or to myself, I didn't know, "Get me out of this, please, I want to go home."

The crowbar came down again, connecting with the side of my head and sending me sprawling to my side. My vision swam, and I closed my eyes. Then there was a flood of light that pulsated against the backs of my eyes. I squinted, but could make out nothing. I could hear the raised and alarmed voices of my three attackers, but couldn't see anything. Then, I felt the floor beneath me fall away. Was this what it was like to die? It must be.

I closed my eyes and let the light take me.

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