The Arsonist's Girl

Stars blazed in the night sky as he looked upon her face, lit up by the brightness of the moon. “How are you feeling?” he asked. She simply turned her face to his, and looked at him. The hood of his car that they sat on was still warm to the touch of his hand, and his mind drifted to where he had been not even an hour before as darkness took him.

         The smell of burning wood came back to him, the sensation of fire radiated from his hand, and he was there again, in front of her house, watching it burn. He had ran in, no second thoughts. The door was agape, and there were no screams, he did not know where she was. “Annie! Where are you?!” he had yelled, but nothing came in response save for the crackling of the fire enveloping the house. He walked into the house calm, but he did not remain so for long. The wooden staircase he had sat on with her many times before was burning from the bottom up, and her room was upstairs. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and ran up, skipping three or so steps with each lunging stride. The fire singed his skin and stole his breath, but he payed it no mind, his mind was in the moment. He reached the top and looked down the hall. It was a tunnel that appeared to be the mouth of Hell itself, flames rising from the floor, and engulfing the walls and the picture frames on them, filled with her fond memories. He snapped himself out of the trance and ran down the hall, flames licking up through the hardwood of the floor, past one, two doors (her parents and uncles rooms), and finally came to the third, hers.

         There she lay, in her bed, as still as the breath he now held. She was an angel in hell, oblivious to the fact. Her dresser had caught, flames reaching through the floor surely the culprit, and there a picture of him and her burned. This he saw, and again the trance caught him. His smiling face had been burned out of the picture, only she remained, looking at him through the picture and the flames surrounding. Her eyes, even in a still image, froze him as the fire rose around him. Coming back to his situation, he threw off the blankets covering her, and picked her up; holding her in his arms calmed him instantly. He turned, and ran to the door of her room. He stepped into the hallway, and suddenly the board on which he stood broke under his weight. The crack pierced through the sounds of the flame engulfed house and her slow calm breathing on his shoulder where her head rested. He felt a nail stab into his calf and tear up through his skin as he fell. The warm caress of pain filled his leg and he cringed, but no sound of pain escaped him. He placed his weight on his left leg, which had not fallen through, and pushed himself back up to floor level, ripping another cut into his leg as he did so. His leg gushed blood through his jeans, and the wound felt hot even in comparison to his face as he quickly limped down the burning hallway. When he reached the top of the stairs the flames had advanced upwards, now almost covering them in their entirety. He held her close, and began his slow and injured descent. Flames burned his arms and his cheeks, and singed her beautiful brown hair, which undoubtedly had lost its sweet scent and had been replaced by the harsh smell of smoke.

         One step after another, he limped down, enduring the flames as he did so, very careful to keep her safely in his arms. He reached the bottom, and his leg now throbbed, the rip in his leg being outlined by searing hot pain. With the front door (Now aflame) in sight, he was reassured that he was done with the ordeal. He limped over, feeling weak and shaky, to the door. He slammed into it with his shoulder and he crashed through, losing his balance as the ruined portal gave way. He lost her in the fall, and they both lay on the porch in a crumpled heap. The impact had jarred her awake, and she knew not where she was or what had happened.

         “My parents are in there!” she declared

         “Yes, and that is where they will stay” he replied, bluntly.

         He hobbled over to her and grabbed her hand, leading her to his car which was still running. “Get in, now” he commanded with no real emotion in his voice. She did not have a word of argument and obeyed. As he pushed the door closed a deafening blast took the house, and those left inside. The heat blew through him, again stealing what short breath he had, and slamming his weak body into the hood. He snapped up quickly and half ran to the driver’s side, he got in, and threw the vehicle into reverse and floored it.

         He awoke to the sound of the passenger door slamming shut, and he sat up. His leg was still bleeding, and his vision was blurred from either exhaustion or blood loss. He saw her looking through his car, and there he knew she would find the lighter fluid and lighter that had started the blaze he had saved her from. He knew what she would think. In addition, he knew what he had to do. He got up, and he stumbled to the passenger window, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her back. As he did so, he saw she had the bottle of lighter fluid in her hand and she splashed it on his face and into his eyes, he was too slow. He took a few steps back and tried to wipe the liquid from his face. The burning was like that of the fire he had started, and his vision was now nothing but unrecognizable shapes. However, he did not need his eyes. She was behind him, with his Zippo in hand. It read “Flame cleanses all”. “How fitting”, she thought as she flicked the flame alive, and this he heard and knew his fate. She threw the lighter into the pool of lighter fluid that was at his feet without a word. He erupted into flame, like the house, and his flesh cooked and bubbled. She could smell it, and it disgusted her. Instead of screams of pain, only laughs escaped him as his own flame cleansed him.