Do you think me a monster? Of course you do. Of course. They call me Firestarter. You can see the reason; that's why I'm here. You don't know? Then I'll tell you. That building, the one that blazed, its roof dancing with orange flame. I thought it was empty. They
told me it was empty.
It wasn't.
I could hear her shouts as the fire caught its prey and started to feast on its timbers.
And then it caught her.
Oh, the screams, those dreadful, desperate screams. Oh, how I wished and hoped and prayed, prayed to a God I never believed in, prayed for the rain to come and the fire to stop and for those terrible, terrible screams to cease their assault on my ears. oh, the guilt that I felt, how i wished to help, but the fire, my devil-child, which I had created with the spark of a flint, was too hot, too fierce, too strong. I hated myself, as I still do, as the fierce yellow flames burned on, consuming the flesh of the girl trapped inside, and the thatch and the timbers of the old wooden house. As I lay on the ground, awash on a sea of guilt, the people came, but they could do nothing. The screams carried on, i don't know how long, until, finaly, the clouds burst, the rain flowed down and doused the fire. With the rain pouring down through the holes in the roof, I plunged into the house, through smoking rooms, to find the girl, a child of 10, looking at me with earnest eyes, horribly burned, but slightly alive. I pulled her out of the smoking rubble, and carried her in my arms. The people came when they heard my shouts, but it was late, too late.
And so i sit here. You now know the reason for this dank, dark cell and these well-deserved shackles binding my wrists and my freedom; and rightly so. The girl's life which I stole, the result of my selfish lust for those golden glorious damned flames. You have heard my story now; What do you think? Judge me again. Do you think me a monster now?

This work is licenced under a
Creative Commons Licence by Tom Johnson.