The Job

Wilson had a love-hate relationship with his job. Certainly a better occupation than his last profession, where he had lived in his cubicle breathing in the smell of ink and paper. When he'd gotten the chance to join a government agency dedicated to apprehending those considered abnormal, he had immediately taken the offer.

However, on days like this, Wilson wished that he had stayed with his past job. At least there hadn't been any kids setting cornfields on fire with nothing but their minds.

He stared wearily at the arsonist, who smirked at the sight of Wilson's singed eyebrows.