A/N: Yeah, I know another one, but this idea was just to tempting! I'm not gonna talk too much though, I just wanna apologise for shortness but it's just like a 'taster' of you like. So please, give me your feedback and tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mighty Boosh, I make no profit from these so please don't sue me, and even if I did own it, Noel and Julian would do a far better job than me. xD
Pyromaniac – chapter one.
Shocking orange and yellow flames burst through a double-glazed window, sending the shard hurtling downwards and continuing its feast on the small two-bedroomed flat, burning at the terracotta brickwork and making its way up to the tiled roof.
Screams echoed from the inside of the rapidly burning building, yelps came from the dog trapped inside with its owner, and people from all over the street came running out in their slippers and dressing gowns, all holding a mobile phone in hand shaking. Sirens could be heard all over the city, the late night club rush was on for the emergency services and no one knew whether the sirens were for them, and for the people trapped inside the building.
Mr.Noir had escaped, dragging his two sons along with him, but forgetting about his wife. The three of them stood outside the house, hands covering their faces, tears filled the young boy's eyes whereas a plan was forming in that of their fathers. Mr.Noir pulled of his jacket and dived back into the burning house, ignoring the cried from his children and the neighbours.
The smoke got thicker, darker and the air was getting thinner, the oxygen around them was depleting and there was still no sign of the emergency services, or in fact no show of the children's father. But the arrival of an eerie silence, the screams and cries had stopped, the people around had stopped shouting, the children had stopped screaming and all that could be heard was the snap, crackle and pop of the fire, greedily making it's way onto the next house. The cul-de-sac was threatened by the greedy orange beast.
-x-
The last of the fire had been doused, the damage was horrifying – a shell of the once beautiful house was all that stood. Smoke still plumed from certain areas of the carnage, cinders puffed from the rafters of the 'house' and people passing laid flowers down by the lamppost.
The fire fighters turned to hoses off and the chief walked over to one of his colleagues.
"I don't understand, this doesn't look like an accident."