'The Fire Dancer's First Performance' by Alexandra Otto

Tan grips his fire sticks. Overhead, trapezists whirl and acrobats leap, their scarves like butterfly wings.

He’s rehearsed too long for this moment. Since childhood, he’s dreamt of taming fire, channeling it safely away with a brush of his fingers, until only a faint smell of ash remains.

Tan raises two sticks and sets them ablaze. He pirouettes, swooping the flames into graceful loops while his body sways.

Memories pierce the gaps of dancing flames.

Seth’s sticky caramel-popcorn fingers tap Tan’s forearm. Tan rolls his eyes. “Mom and Dad fell asleep. Tan, can you read me a bedtime story? Please?”

As his heart pounds, Tan twirls his fire stick faster. The audience erupts into applause.

Seth cries. Tan shushes him by holding up his favorite storybook. Seth’s eyes alight. “There once was a tow truck that flew through the air. . .” Tan tucks a stuffed truck beneath Seth and heads to his own bedroom. He kicks an empty whiskey bottle on the way. It skitters across the splintered plywood and collides with a jumble of loose electrical wires. Another project his parents have left for another day. Just like him and Seth.

Hurling a stick high in the air, Tan vaults beneath it into an aerial. He lands, catching the stick one-handed. The blaze rises, ready to attack. Tan shakes, ready to strike back.

Heat blasts into Tan’s room. A hungry conflagration engulfs his bedroom. He tumbles out his window and rushes around the house toward Seth’s room.

Spinning, Tan slashes the air, controlling the fiery beast. In the audience, a preschool-aged boy points to the sparks and spills his popcorn. A woman beside him brushes it off and smiles at Tan. Through the blur of his flame’s blue veil, Tan focuses on the family and pretends they are his.