Fires everywhere around.
You're in a suit you shouldn't be wearing.
But you don't mind, as for right now, you're not very yourself, either.
It might be the drugs. It might be the company. It might be choices you'll regret later, but not all of them, because they were for the right reasons anyway. Saving your goddamn city. As the usual. Your goal, the only one you have, so many times. (Right after coming home to it.)
Right now, you shake off every thought of it. Without moving. Let's not tilt head the wrong way, it might get interpreted. After all, they're a legion of ninjas, well trained in espionage. More trained than you are, but that can all go to hell, because you're good at mimicry. You have to trust yourself when nobody else trusts you, here. You have to trust yourself and keep your act together. And don't forget; there's no trusting them. They're all enemies, but you have to belong, for the time's sake. You have to belong and you have to make them believe you do, so start with making yourself believe that. But not too much. It's like making a tip of the arrow. Not too hot, not too cold, careful about the shape, careful around the edges, hey, don't hurt yourself in the process.
So you watch the flames, as they remind you of other flames of self sufficience.
You were making arrows, back then. Right on time, as you're going to need them.
You narrow eyes, slightly.
No. That's the wrong time.
You're not there yet. You're not there yet, even though it feels like a past, already. You just remember the futures some days, even more when you're tired and stressed and just exhausted. So back to focus. Or maybe it's just dreams induced by the drugs. You know it was hallucinogens and you know it was hypnotics and at times it was opiates you've been most vulnerable to of all of them, but you still don't know the exacts, and it's not like you can ask anyone. Remember, they first, wouldn't tell you, second, are your enemies.
The flames rise higher and fade again and remind you of a place they'll likely return you to, because they need, what was the word, listening ears on it. You already hate that island, but that's no news, you've hated it since you set foot on it. So wanting an operative over there. Or, a friendly douchebag in the middle of very unfriendly douchebags. Someone remind me why I'm friends with the terrorists, again? Oh. That's right. I'm not. I'm just learning to play this make-believe, play it right, and save my city.
Because it's all it's been. Saving your home. Doing everything you can for the city that's ditched you - but that you'll pay back by kindness.
That kindness, you decide, is your flame. It's your flame nothing will quit. No water, no matter what they do, either. I'll stand another round of waterboarding and other fun brainwashing, because this water, like that flame, is my friend.
That kindness is your flame so much when they say, 'Al Saheem', it rewrites 'Oliver Queen' on your soul.
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