Pin

"If you burn that, I'll kill you."

I watched as she came near me, looking tired and a little exasperated. In my hand trembled a lit match, and the flame burned closer and closer to my fingers, but I made no move to extinguish it. She glanced at it, sighed, and removed the paper from my hand.

She was Pin, a young girl with a mind far more mature than should have been at her age. I had known her as long as I could remember, and she was the only one I would talk to. Her seventeenth birthday had passed, barely a year after mine, but she said nothing about it, and I wondered if even she remembered. I had remembered.

I had to burn. That was why I was here, because I had burned. They had said I did not know the danger I caused. They had said fire was far more destructive than I had anticipated. I hit the first person who said that. I know exactly how destructive fire was. I had scars on my hands and arms and face from where I had let it go too far in my excitement. I told Pin this, and she touched my shoulder and told me not to tell anyone else that. I didn't ask her why, because I trusted her.

I did not know why Pin was here. I had never asked her. Pin was like a mystery, and sometimes I liked to keep her as a mystery. I was afraid that if I knew too much about her, she would evaporate before my eyes, and she would be gone.

What I had been about to burn today was a piece of paper that I had written on. Pin had been there when I wrote on it, and she had helped me. I wrote my name, because she told me to. I hated my name, I hated it when anyone said my name. Pin told me I used to threaten to burn people if they called me by my name. I didn't remember that. But she told me to write my name on the paper, so I did.

Today I was going to burn it.

Pin took the paper from me, folded it, and put it in her pocket. I watched her. She sat down next to me and looked at her hands.

I always waited for her to speak first.

"Jack," she said, and I winced at the sound. "It's just a name," she went on crossly. "Stop acting like I'm stabbing you."

I didn't say anything.

"How've you been today? Didn't see you much. Did you burn anything before I stopped you?"

I shook my head.

"I was talking to the other girls here today. We've got some new arrivals. Maybe you should talk to them, Jack, you never talk to anyone here, and I think it would be a good--"

"I talk to you," I mumbled. I hated the sound of my own voice.

"I know you do," Pin said kindly. "But maybe you should try to make some other friends. You might need them, you know, when I'm gone and everything..."

I blinked. "You're leaving?"

She smiled sadly. "Yes, Jack, I've told you. Remember?"

I shook my head. I didn't remember.

"It's all right. I'll tell you as many times as you need to. But like I was saying, you might need someone to talk to once I'm gone... it will make it easier."

"Where are you going?"

She smiled again, but sadder than ever. "I'm going," she said softly.

I shook my head again. I had practiced with denial for so long. "You can't leave, Pin."

"I can't stay here forever, Jack. I don't want to leave, but I don't have a choice."

"How soon are you going?"

I tried to keep my voice as manly as possible, but she must have heard it when it broke.

"Soon, Jack..." she sighed. I hadn't noticed how tired and worn she looked recently.

"Are you sick, Pin?"

She nodded wordlessly.

I looked at my hands and wished I could burn something.

The following morning, Pin found me sitting where I always did, playing with a box of matches. She sat down next to me, looking tired.

"Hello, Jack," she said, as brightly as she could.

"Hello, Pin," I replied.

She looked a little surprised. "How've you been? Didn't see you much today. Have you been burning?"

"No."

Again, she looked surprised, but she went on. "I've been talking to some of the other girls. We've got some new arrivals. Maybe you should talk to them, Jack, you never talk to anyone here, and I think it would be good..." She trailed off and looked at me.

"You're leaving," I said, hoarsely. "I remember."

She looked sad. "You remember?"

"Yes," I replied. Almost angrily. "You're sick, and you're going to die and leave me."

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said, in almost a whisper.

I didn't say anything. The match in my hand lit, and it must have been by habit, because I didn't remember. I watched it burn down the sliver of wood until it bit my fingers. The pain didn't cause me to extinguish the flame.

"Oh, stop it, Jack," cried Pin, and I was startled to hear tears in her voice. She reached over and covered the flame with her hand, and I knew it must have burned her before it went out. I looked up at her eyes and was silent. She was crying.

I didn't know what to do, so I put my arm around her shoulder and waited for her to speak.

"I want you to promise me," she said, after a moment. "I want you to promise me that when I'm gone, you won't kill yourself."

My insides constricted.

"Promise me, Jack."

"How did you know?..."

"Promise me!"

I looked at the burned out match in my fingers.  "I promise."

Pin breathed a sigh of relief. "I have to go, Jack," she said, standing up. I looked up at her, wanting to say so many things, but afraid to speak. Suddenly she bent down, kissed my cheek, and ran away.

They called me into her room that night, at three in the morning. She had been asking for me. She looked so pale and sick and horrible, and I wondered how she had degraded so much in just a few hours.

"Hello, Jack," she said, weakly. But she smiled.

"Hello, Pin."

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"You're sick and you're going to die and leave me."

She reached out and touched my hand. "What did you promise me, Jack?"

I looked down.

"You promised."

"I won't kill myself."

"Thanks."

I was suddenly afraid I was going to cry. The match in my hand yearned to be burning. I felt her slide a piece of paper into my hand.

"Hey, Jack," came Pin's voice.

I looked at her anxiously.

"Hey, Jack..."

Pin died that night, at 4:26 am.

Sixteen years later, I lived with my wife  Jillian, and our little daughter Pin. I worked as a firefighter, my wife as a nurse, and Pin played with dolls. I had told her about the first Pin, how I had tried for so long to trace down her family, how I had looked everywhere for any sign of where she had come from, but never found it. Pin was a mystery, just like she had been when I first met her.