This idea came to me when I was lighting a match. Let me know what you think.
I never liked hearing people call me a pyromaniac. The "maniac" part made it sound like people were accusing me of being crazy. No, I'm not crazy. I just like…fire. It was so beautiful. Fire made me feel alive and electric. I watch it and I'm absolutely fascinated. When I was little, I would wake up in the middle of the night and tiptoe to the kitchen. Max didn't need to know about it. I would fill a bowl with water and set it on the counter. I would dig through the drawers and get out my bow of matches with that handy little striker on the side. I switched the lights off and the magic would begin. I quickly dragged the tip of the match on the side of the box, heard that little chchchch and the match was on fire. I would stare at it, the mix of orange and yellow astonished me. I loved the light, and the fire's ability to brighten the pitch-black room. I would bring the match near my face, so I could feel the heat and hear the crackle-crackle of the wood. The fire would travel down the match, and, just before it touched my fingers, I'd drop it in the water. This would go on and on for an hour, and I'd do that for days in a row, until I ran out of matches. Then, after a couple days, I'd sneak to the supermarket and buy some more. The little event each night was exhilarating, even though I deprived myself of sleep. Some would call this unhealthy, but how could something so unhealthy make me feel so…excited? When I turned six, I started inviting Iggy to join me. He loved the sound of the fire burning the wood of the match. That's right, I caused his pyromania. How stupid of me?
But Max never caught us, usually because she wasn't curious. However, the thrill of eluding her gave me little chills. She never noticed the bags under our eyes from staying up at night and the strange lack of matches in the house. I don't know how she didn't notice the stunning amount of matches in the trash. Then, one night, she walked into the kitchen because she wanted a drink of water, and she saw us, sitting at the table, wasting matches. She flicked on the lights, marking the end of our nightly match burning.
However, I wanted more. I didn't want to see that little flame. I wanted to see the sky on fire. I wanted a huge explosion. When Max was out buying groceries, I got my hands on a can of hairspray, and Iggy got a ball of twine. We went outside and flew away from the house. I sprayed the twine, and threw a lit match at it. I watched it catch, and I beamed. The fire was beautiful, and big. Not big enough. So I chopped down a tree with Iggy (which took too much time and effort), and poured gasoline on it. Don't worry, we made sure it didn't catch on anything else. Just the tree. I noticed Iggy couldn't really enjoy it as much as me, because he could see the flames. I went for the more audible approach. We looked up bombs. It took a while, but we figured out how to make a little makeshift bomb.
We went out into the desert and activated the bomb. It made a great explosion, and Iggy loved the noise. We looked up all kinds of bombs, and we figured out how to make some of our own. We'd bring them outside and let 'em explode. My favorites were the big, smoky ones with a nice BANG! Iggy preferred the grenade-like explosions with a specific sound. It was fun while it lasted.
Iggy and I were setting off our biggest one yet. This baby was going to make everything else look like Childs play. We even went out and flew into a bomb rang in the middle of the night. We invited our flock to come and watch, but only Nudge and Angel came. Max didn't think it was important enough, and Fang and Dylan agreed. We set up a control center far enough away from the bomb with a large, see through barrier. Nudge talked about how she was so excited. I regret not listening to her because these would be the last words she'd ever say. I looked over my shoulder at Angel. She smiled and nodded at the button that would set the bomb off. I held it, and it felt good to have that much power in your grasp.
"Would you like to do the honors, Iggy, my boy?" I asked in a sly tone.
"I would, Gazzy, my crony," he replied, equally sly. "And in five…four…three…two…"
But I was too excited to wait for one. My thumb pressed the button, and KABBBOOOOMMMMMMM! A massive detonation filled the sky. Suddenly, the cloud of fire was huge, and it was spreading in all directions. Including towards us. I grabbed Angel and Nudge by their jackets and ran as fast as he could. Nudge was struck with fear, and I tried to pull her, but she…just wouldn't move. The flames were coming at Angel and I, and I couldn't move Nudge, so I…I let go of her…and ran away. Like a coward. What was I thinking? I let my own sister burn to death while I ran away. I would rather die with her than see her go without me. I should have stayed next to her, and let the fire engulf me, too. And the worst part is…I heard her screaming. It was high pitched and horrible. And I caused it.
I killed Nudge. She had to feel the terrible flames on her skin. She screamed as loud as she could in pain, even though she was beyond help. I burned her alive. When the fire was out, we found little chips of her bones and her ashes. I laid there, face down, and cried. And screamed. And shouted. Until I was hoarse. I wanted to bring her back, and I wanted to tell her I was so completely sorry. Iggy did the same thing. Angel, being able to hear our thoughts, tried to pull us up from the ground, but she was too little. She had tears flowing down her face, hysterically trying pick us up. I pounded the ground with my fist, and then curled up into an unmoving ball. Angel whipped out her cellphone and called Max, trying to explain between sobs. Max was there in minutes, along with Fang and Dylan. She laid there with us, sobbing hysterically. We all wrapped our arms around each other in a weak attempt at comforting ourselves. Max tried to console me, but I could not tell what she was saying because the sound of her crying got in the way.
Today, I took a trip to the cemetery and sat next to Nudge's grave. The epitaph says A soul that suffers is stronger than a soul that rejoices. I had suffered, and I was still weak. Nudge, my dear sister, was gone. I wish I had never blown up that bomb. My fault, my fault, my fault. My mistake. My burden. Our burden. Her burden. I think every day, She died. You could have done something. You coward! You disgrace! Shame! Shame! It was all true. I left her to burn. I sat at her grave, and put flowers on the ground. Then, I put flowers on a couple other graves, because I felt the wrath of death, and I wanted to…comfort the dead. Nudge would have wanted that.
"Nudge," I whispered. "If you can hear me, I'm sorry. Please, know that."
The sky grew dark, and rain poured down. Rain to put out the fire in the sky, and in my soul.
The fire was out. It is true. I was a maniac.
Well that was…depressing. And scary. I hope you enjoyed it, though.