Burning Chapters

That night I watched the library burn in a violent rage, feeling the intense heat on my face. The fire service would be here soon, but I wanted to stick around to watch, savouring the smell of a thousand books burning, the words on their pages vanishing into oblivion.
      My mother brought me here for the first time when I was eight years old. I was in awe of the place as I plodded through the seemingly infinite bookcases. The musty smell of the place pleased me as she walked me through a labyrinth of tomes. She guided me to a colourful room full of children’s books and left me there alone whilst she went to find the book she was after.
    I could hear the sirens in the distance, so I walked over the road and took a seat on a bench. I wished they hadn’t shown up so soon; I wanted to watch the whole thing burn until everything had gone.
    I was looking at all the colourful books when the librarian crept up and placed his gangly hand on my shoulder. I looked into his grey eyes and he took me into a closet, locking the door.
    My haunted memories were burning away, floating off with the plumes of black smoke. I felt unburdened for the first time in fifteen years and I began to laugh to the stars.
    The fire fighters were now dousing the fire with a powerful hose. One of them saw me sitting across the road and approached, his face blackened by the smoke.
    “Did you see what happened here?” He asked.
    “No sir, I just like watching the flames,” I replied, “They remind me of camping.”
    Soon they would find the body in the ash and they would come for me.
    She should have never left me alone.