"I'll have some sausage and two eggs cut lengthwise, alright?" Someone piped up in a squeaky voice. Hmm, not a regular, but a customer nonetheless.

"You got it," I replied with a smile. Today was a good day for business. Customers were piling in one by one, and it looked like this morning we were in for a long day.

Typically, people tended to hang around the local bar, but after a little incident between two regulars, people have been frequenting here more. Rumor was that the staff messed up the orders, one customer accused the other of stealing his food, and the rest was history. Bars are always rowdy, I mused.

I turned around and pushed open the kitchen door, calling out. "We need sausage and two eggs cut lengthwise, OK?"

Dave, my father, and the head of the restaurant looked up from his chopping board and asked, "No trouble today?"

"Nah, I got a feeling I'll even beat my record today," I boasted confidently. Surprisingly, even with the influx of more customers, I had kept my cool.

"Good for you. The sausage and eggs will be ready in a minute." Dave replied before turning to the rest of the kitchen staff.

I went back to the front desk and leaned back in my chair. I couldn't help but just enjoy the aroma of coffee and breakfast filling the air. Someday, maybe I would be able to run the restaurant and perhaps work in the kitchen instead of outside. There wasn't much to do other than taking orders and greeting customers, but Dave always said that I played an important role in maintaining customer satisfaction and such. I don't know-I'm still not convinced.

A squeaky voice broke my train of thought, and I jumped up in my chair, sending it crashing into the wall. "Are my sausage and eggs ready?"

Sliding my chair back, I replied, "Yeah, they'll be ready in a moment." I pivoted and poked my head into the kitchen. "Are the sausage and eggs ready yet?"

Chester, a plump, grouchy fellow, looked up from the cutting board and said, exasperated, "Can you be patient? I'm in the middle of cutting the eggs."

I took a few deep breaths. It's not worth getting frustrated over. "Alright, call me when you're done."

I stepped out of the kitchen and glanced at the customer. "Your breakfast will be ready momentarily."

"Just hurry it up, I'm a bit hungry," the customer fidgeted impatiently.

Ding!

The familiar bell alerted me, and I passed the counter, strode into the kitchen, and grabbed the plate placed on the table. Carefully balancing it in my hand, I pushed open the kitchen door and walked towards the customer's table.

"Your sausage and eggs, sir," I said, being formal just like I practiced.

"Thanks..." The customer cocked his head and stared at the eggs. "I believe I asked the eggs to be cut lengthwise."

My eyebrows furrowed, and I looked at the customer strangely. "I believe that they are cut lengthwise."

"Not evenly though."

Then it started. First the shaking, then my blood started boiling, and I almost forgot to take a few deep breaths before my face got all purple.

"Why does that matter?!" I struggled to get every word out, struggled to contain them so they wouldn't come bursting out of my mouth like a volcanic eruption.

"Well, you did say satisfaction guaranteed in the front of the restaurant, and,'' the customer snickered, "I'm not satisfied. Even the bar was better than this."

That was it. The customer looked at me strangely, and I don't blame him because I must have gritted my teeth so hard it looked like I would break my jaw. My fists clenched, though I couldn't actually feel them, I spat each word out. "Do you know how much work we put into each meal? And you complain about just one miscut?!"

The customer shrugged, unbothered by me. "Well, at least your awful food is better than your customer service."

I slammed my fist down on the table, and a few other customers turned to look at the escalating scene. "I can't tolerate more of your insults and if you don't leave right now, I'll personally kick you out."

"I was planning that anyway," the customer retorted. He signaled to the others, "C'mon this place is terrible, let's go somewhere else."

My hands shook and I felt an unusual heat radiating from them. Wisps of smoke drifted upwards and the chandelier flickered, seemingly in cue with the rapid thumping of my heart.

The customer opened his mouth to remark on something else but stopped, his eyes widening at the sight of my hands.

"What? Are you going to get out or not?" I exclaimed in frustration. Every second I could feel more eyes on me, and I glanced at my hands, a bright shade of red.

The customer threw his hands up in annoyance. "See what I mean? I'm getting out of here."

"Wait!" I extended my arm out to stop him and he yelped in pain. Oh god, my hands! I stopped myself at the last moment from slapping my forehead in carelessness.

The customer turned around slowly, eyes wide, clutching his shoulder as if it would fall off any second. "W-what did you do to me?"

"I..."

He shook his head and turned to look at the other customers. "What did I say?"

And with that, he hobbled out of the restaurant, daring to take one last glance at me.

I watched blankly as the customers filed out, whispering amongst themselves, and it seemed whatever I did, something would go wrong.

As the last customer slammed the door behind them, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Wallace..."

"Sorry, I was just... caught up in the moment. It won't happen again."

Dave just sighed. "I know, but things are rough and this was the first time in a while since we had that many customers."

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." Dave and the rest of the crew shuffled out, mumbling angrily.

"The kitchen was a disaster, and now this!" One of them bitterly laughed. I stared at my hands, a brilliant scarlet. Perhaps my kitchen dream was far-fetched. The first and only time I had been there, I had severed a pot, knocked down a stack of dishes, and would have burned down the entire kitchen if Alice hadn't rushed in and put out the blaze.

The once lively restaurant had been turned into a gloomy atmosphere. As I wiped and cleaned the tables, I couldn't feel any more of that tense, hot feeling-only a sense of disappointment and defeat.

Alice cast me a sympathetic look as she headed back into the kitchen, and I just sighed. I was probably better off working in one of those flame mines the capital had set up centuries ago by the volcanoes. Nobody cared what you said as long as you did your work—chipping away at volcanic rock to search for a blue flame in vain. Just like me. Doing everything only to find it to be futile. They resided deep in the volcanoes, streaking through the lava-filled crevices, and were gone at the sight of a pickaxe, or in rare cases, a person. One flame to power all, as the capital said, though only one had been found years ago. Was that how long it was going to take for me to not just be a screw-up? Centuries?

But no, I told myself firmly, I would just die there after a few hours, crushed in a mine collapse or some other miserable death by nature's hand or the capital's.

My hand tingled, and I placed it on my cheek. It was still warm, like freshly baked toast. Dave always told me, as a toddler, that my hands would get as hot as an oven when I threw a tantrum and nearly burned Alice, who was taking care of me at the time. She only survived after dousing herself in water; she had a deep affinity for water.

I chuckled at the memory. Those carefree days when everything seemed to be perfect. I slumped down at my desk, and slammed my fists down, as if doing so could get rid of the heat.

Rather, my hands grew hotter as tears formed in the corners of my eyes. So hot that when I stopped, the desk looked a little blackened.

The kitchen door opened slowly, and I spun around. It was Benjamin, one of the cooks and my only true friend. I met him years ago when he first arrived at the restaurant, and we were instant friends. "Hey, you good?"

A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I hastily wiped my eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Benjamin didn't leave; instead, he walked to my desk, grabbing a chair from a table. "Oof, these chairs need to get fixed."

I gave a small nod.

"Y'know, I probably would have cracked back there. It's not your fault."

I said nothing. "You don't have to stay here. There probably won't be customers coming anyway."

...because of me.

"Are you sure you're good?" Benjamin stared at me intently for a while then spoke up again. "Did I ever tell you about my glass-blowing days?"

I shook my head, avoiding Benjamin's gaze.

"Well, I haven't told anyone but Dave, but I think you can keep a secret." A wee smile tugged at my lips and Benjamin chuckled. "Seriously, don't tell anyone I believe in unicorns. But they are real."

"Real?" I smirked as I met those murky brown eyes. "Not a chance."

"Anyways, I didn't work here for all my life." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Though I wish I had."

"When I was about your age..." His eyes briefly met mine. "No, a bit younger, I had just started working at my father's famous glassmith shop."

"Famous, huh?" I said. "Never heard of it."

Benjamin shrugged. "It's a big world."

"So, glassblowing." His shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. "My father first set me up doing simple glass creations in the basement when I was finally of age. Y'know, I was ecstatic. Beyond excited. But..." He trailed off.

"What happened?" I pressed, though I knew what he was going to say.

He eyed me wearily. "Well, I didn't know if I channeled the air wrong, or I just didn't have it in me, but I couldn't do it. Everything I made was deformed, a hideous excuse for something supposed to be beautiful. My father always said my magic was mediocre at best, but I didn't realize that..."

Clearing his throat, he wiped a few tears trickling down his face. "I just couldn't do it. So I ran away. Ran until I couldn't. Somehow, I wound up here and then Dave found me, shivering, curled up into a ball on the streets. And he found a use for my magic."

His tears had dried up when he looked back at me. "And you will, too."