Tin Man (Solo)

When Blue was a child, he remembered reading the Oz books. It took longer than it would have for most people, given he hid any reading from his father who would have loved another reason to torment him. But he was bored, and reading offered as much of an escape as anything at that age. Plus, it was less risky than trying to leave the house.

One book was the most popular to typical culture: The Wizard of Oz. Blue remembered the appeal of the story when he read it, crammed into his closet, still sporting a busted lip, and thinking about the characters as he tried to lick away the taste of iron that still lingered from the cut. The characters all had their own desires and they seemed simple and relatable: a brain, courage, a heart.

Blue never felt like he lacked courage. He was always on fire, the flames the light that helped him read even in his closet or under his bed. Those flames served as a deterant to most people, keeping them away. He had a dad who hated him, but Blue knew it was only a matter of time before he was strong enough to deal with that. Courage, he was fine with.

A brain he had too. He was smart but had little use for it. What good was a brain if it wouldn’t get you anywhere? He didn’t care about school, didn’t care about a career, didn’t care about anything but leaving this town. Actually, it was the caring he felt he was missing.

If Blue felt he could relate to anything, it was the feeling of not having a heart.

There were stories he read about serial killers. Murderers, thieves. They all shared the same element of a lack of empathy, a lack of caring. Blue understood that. He knew how it felt for things to just not matter anymore. Every time he was struck, everytime someone mocked him, it was easier not to care, or to just feel angry.

“Is Blue your real name?”

“Your mutation is so useless. What’s the use of fire when you can’t burn anything!”

It was easier not to care, not to feel what those words wanted to do. It was easier to avoid pain by not feeling anything. He didn’t feel heat, or cold, so why should he feel sad, or happy? Just, nothing. If he could feel nothing, he was safe.

When Blue thought of the stories, he wondered what made the Tin Man want to care. When you had no heart you were stronger. He saw the Tim Man as better before the wizard got to him. Blue felt having a heart was something he was missing, but it would be a curse to ever gain.

As he grew older, this mindset continued. If he didn’t grow attached to people he could leave when he wanted. If he didn’t care he could hit someone without remorse. His soul grew darker, a void as he shut out the emotions he didn’t feel. It grew strong enough he could kill without blinking. He was empty and the word could burn, and he would dance on the ashes.

He started to feel happy when things burned. Happy when people suffered. Happy living his own life and forcing his own path. Like a machine swinging out, striking anything that got too close. He was free, so free, and loved it.

But then, a complication arrived.

This complication drank too much, and laughed loud. She was reckless, like a breeze that danced from place to place. When he tried to burn her, she slipped away like some ethereal creature, and continued to dance just outside his grasp. She flickered much like a little flame, and Blue found himself drawn to the light she offered, as if she gave the same energy a real fire would give.

For awhile, he tricked him mind to thinking the attraction was physical. After all, the enemies with benefits sort of idea was fitting. If she got too close, he could scare her away with his dangerous attitude. She had seen him kill. She knew he could burn her anytime if he felt like it, all it took was a well timed spark. He burnt her sometimes in the early days, and the apartment had little marks from his temper.

But, time changed things. They fought thugs together. He killed for her. She rescued him. They got a cat. He wasn’t sure when this girl he treated as simply a means to have a roof over his head had become necessary to him. When she left, he wanted to follow, and found himself brooding in an empty room every time she vanished and left him behind.

He played a guitar again in those days, just to hear music in the apartment again. He could never sing like she did, but a few cords here and there almost made him feel like he was closer. The light was almost in reach, the flame who kept getting away from him. This little spark that almost felt like warmth, something in his tin chest.

One day, she left again, and he was sitting on a sofa with a computer and a kitten, and an empty apartment. She had gone and danced out of reach one more tile. There was a painful but almost comforting ache when he thought of how he wanted her back next to him.

Then, he knew why the Tin Man asked the wizard for a heart.