Playing With Fire Leaves You Burned

I crept slowly down the staircase, sighing with relief after each creaky floorboard was passed. I gripped the box of matches, grinning from ear to ear. " This is it " I thought. I could remember the day I met fire quite vividly, almost like it was yesterday. Two years ago today, I glanced into my sisters room, spotting her with a box of matches. I remember confiscating the box, and telling her she was to young to play with such serious things as fire. She whined and pouted, but she eventually blew out the candles she had lit and forgot the incident completely.

However, I hadn't. The little matchbox called to me, it tempted me daily. Eventually, the temptation became to strong and I succumbed to the lure. I lit my first match, and gazed at in wonder. A single match holds so much possibility, a single ember can be the demise of a city. Most fail to see the beauty in fire, but not I. One thing led to another, and suddenly, a series of mysterious arson cases began to arise in our small country town. Fire became my one and only friend, my single escape. I recognized the power, destruction, and possibility only something as fierce as fire can bring. I find the gentle swirls of color and the deep, smokey scent hypnotic, even poetic. The day I met fire was the beggining of my life.

Their are only two things I love in this world; fire, and my younger sister. Fire empowers me, it gives me the means to cause the delicious destruction I crave. My sister on the other hand, is quite the opposite. She's as deilicate as a flower, innocent, and needs to be taken care of. I love her to death, and would do anything for her. Upon my arrival home, my sister was the only one who fully trusted and accepted me. My parents sent me away for a very long time, to a place where everyone conspired against me, and no one was to be trusted. Although the walls of my room had been cushioned, I could feel them closing in on me, enveloping me as I counted down the days till my return.

Once downstairs, I slowly set down my matchbox, practically giddy in anticipation. Just as I was about to strike the first match, I heard the soft sound of feet padding down stairs. My parents shouldn't be home, I thought panicked. I opened the cellar door curiously, only to find it was my sister. I smiled as I opened the door for her to join me. I held a match to a candle, and set the lit candle on the smooth linoleum floor, next to a pile of old useless papers, and a wall of stacked boxes filled with discarded junk. She looked dissaprovingly at the candle I had lit, and this sent me reeling. So now my one and only sister was against me? I absentmindedly set the corner of a nearby paper into the flame, and watched as the paper slowly dissapeared, leaving nothing of itself behind. I contemplated all the moments I'd shared with my sister in the past couple weeks following my arrival, and suddenly felt waves of repulsing doubt cloud my mind. She was lying to me, she didn't love me. She thought I was crazy like all the others. " You think I'm crazy. " I whispered shakily. She looked at me with fear in her eyes, and slowly backed away from me. This only made me even madder, seeing she actually believed I would hurt her. I took a delibrate step towards her, and she backed away behind the wall of stacked boxes. My body and mind fell out of sync, and I suddenly lunged towards the one person who truly cared for me. Instead of reaching my sister, I knocked a box, causing the whole wall to slowly crumble over my sister, crushing her beaneath the boxes. " What are you doing? " was her muffled response to my actions. As she made her way out from underneath the pile of boxes, I turned and stormed out of the room.

5 minutes later, a chorus of screams filled our peaceful home. I ran downstairs, greeted by the scent of burning paper and the shattering screams and pleas of my only sister. She cried for help as I tried to knock the door down unsuccesfully. I couldn't call 911, I didn't want anyone to know I had caused this. I looked at the door with despair as I realized what was going to happen. Our cellar was going to be burnt to a crisp, along with my sister. I cried for my sister, the one who was dying a slow painful death because of me. If only she'd stop screaming, why won't she stop? She cried loud enough to wake the dead. Another 5 minutes passed. The thing I loved most was killing the person I loved most, and I was too weak to stop it. Foggy swirls of smoke spiraled from underneath the doorframe. The cries slowly died out into raspy pleas, apologies, and whispered farewells. I casually walked into the kitchen, and took my time choosing the sharpest, most rigid knife I could find. I carried it down to the cellar and sat by the door. I swiftly moved the knife aginst my skin, feelin the cool metal slice my pail delicate wrist, in one quick movement. Blood began to gush and I slowly began to feel weak. The cries of my sister had died long ago, all I could hear were desperate labored breaths. My forearm was a fierce crimson red, the color of fire, I thought with a grin. Fire. This was my last fire, I thought sadly. That was the last of my sister, I thought with dissapointment. I formed my last coherent thought, just seconds before I slumbered. I knew, in the mist of all the chaos and despair in the world, that this was the end of the beggining.