It would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been so many other things. The Halloween dance of orange flame and black shadow moved across the facade of the house, bursting windows and warping siding, consuming everything once it had reached critical mass. As timbers began to give way, it was clear that nothing inside would survive, including my grandmother.
Which was what I wanted. It’s why I set the fire.
It wouldn’t take long for anyone who looked too hard to discover it wasn’t an accident. The oven and the gasoline would be a dead give-away. It would only be a matter of time before someone suspected me.
I watched it burn anyway. I needed to know everything inside was consumed by that holy fire.
See the author’s published work here.
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The American: Chapter 65
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The American: Chapter 65
