Fic idea popped into my head and I had to toss some of it up, forgive the short post: It’s been a year since I left. Left is too good a term though, it implies dignity, a choice. I was wheeled out into an ambulance. The brief gift of fire and glory came with a price I had never been expecting to pay. Medic took me aside at first, worried from signs I hadn't seen, asking about my health. I only told him it was a chest cold ‘or something’. Before I knew it I was hacking up blood into my gas mask. The opening of the door brings me back to where I am. The Hospital. A nurse is here, to check on me, like I’m a helpless child. Truth be told it seems I’m only a few years older than her. She's silent as she examines readouts from the machine I'm hooked up to. The nurses gave up small talk after I insisted on being called ‘Pyro’ rather than my name. She leaves and I'm alone, again. Not even a candle to watch as it melts into a puddle, kind of like me. Tears burn, unshed behind my eyes at that. I’m sick of waiting to die here.
... I think perhaps you should have written more besides this little snippet. This could easily be expanded upon just with the basic information that's been given. Maybe we can get this moved into /workshop/.
Poor Pyro...