Chapter 2
Sometimes when I feel upset about something, I like to think back to that night in the kitchen when I saw it for the first time. It's comforting, in a childish sort of way. I guess it's like looking through rose colored glasses, but as long as it's comforting, what does it matter? And when my memories fail to aid me, I simply look at the real thing.
I sat on the kitchen floor, my legs crossed beneath me with my thumb resting on the lighter. I lightly bit my upper lip as I thought about what I was about to do. Then, without any hesitation, I flicked my thumb down quickly like I have seen my father do so many times. Nothing happened. I tried again. A little, bright spark appeared and then the room grew dark again. I started to get frustrated. Again, I tried and without even a spark to light the way. In my frustration, I pressed even harder. And then it showed itself. A single flame. I was so surprised, I dropped the lighter in my foolishness and I was quenched in darkness again.
I continued to follow the greasy man. By now, the sun had all but set, a faint pink line on the horizon, and the street lights flickered on. It turns out that he wasn't going to work, but to a small house on the edge of the city. Why he said he was going to work, I have no idea. Perhaps he simply wanted to sound important to the average street pedestrian.
He unlocked his door and walked inside. Man this guy lived in a fishbowl. Kind of stupid, when living in the city. Anyone could just walk by and glance into his life; or to those with financial ambition, his belongings. The curtains were wide open. Why have curtains if you are not going to use them? Idiot. I stood across the street, flicking my lighter, watching. His, I assume, wife greeted him. Then they all sat around a table, with their child joining them, and ate. What a happy, typical, tv commercial perfect happy family. I hated it.
I crossed the street and went around to the back of their house. Stupid to not have a fence either. Although, I doubt that would keep me out. I glance around until I find what I was looking for—the stairs to their basement. Perfect. What a better place to start a fire, from the ground up. But as I get closer, I notice that it is locked with a rusty chain. Well, not really locked; the chain is sort of wrapped tightly around it. Once again, stupid. It was a damn miracle that they haven't been robbed or murdered already. I unwrap it and place it on the grass as quietly as I can and make my way downstairs. I flash my zippo on to make some light. As miniscule as the flame is, I don't want to draw attention to what I am about to do.
The basement is cluttered with shelves along each of the four walls, with all kinds of junk weighing them down. Above hangs a bare incandescent light bulb and there are some stairs to the right which lead to the house. I hold my flame out and search for something that could be of some use. Suddenly, I find the best thing ever—the connection to their gas. I feel a slight grin break across my face as I also find a pile of cleaning rags and a small gas can next to it. Stupid.
I collect the rags and soak them in the gasoline. I then unhook the gas to their house and lead the rags to their leak. As soon as I do that, I open the little window that leads to the outside world to help ventilate the gas. I don't want to blow up myself. I quickly lean over and light the end of the rag, and run like hell back to their back yard. I quickly wrap the chain back around their stair doors and make my way to the side of their house. I find the window and shut it. I don't want to leave any trace. I can smell the smoke from the rags. I return to my spot across the street and lean on the light post. I watch them stuff their faces, flicking my lighter on and off.
Something must have grabbed the man's attention at that moment. He glanced up from his plate, out the window, and looks me dead in the eyes. I just stare back, into those dark, watery eyes, my lighter flicking on and off. Just as his eyes comprehend who I am, I click the lighter on and keep the flame going, holding it out to him like a person would toast with a glass of champagne.
His eyes widen a few seconds before his entire house explodes and is engulfed in fire.
