For I Remember Everything

Fire is supposed to bring fear but I have never felt more at peace.

Being surrounded by it, it feels like a dream come true.

For so long, I have sought it out; I have craved it, yearned for it.

Remember when you were told not to play with matches?

It was the best day of my life, to learn that I could control the fire.

I dug through the junk drawer at home in search for the magical sticks.

The power that one little match has; it's almost unfathomable.

A backyard fence burnt to ashes, the ground on either side slightly charred.

There is a beautiful irony to it all.

I remember being called crazy by my parents, the fear in their eyes.

I remember being called crazy by my friends, the laughter in their voice.

I remember being called crazy by my boyfriend, licking his lips.

Families always want to meet their child's partner, like it's a final exam.

"He may not be good for you, so we need to pass our own judgement."

Some people worry about first impressions, I worry about a plan failing.

Let's take some time to set the scene.

A family dinner; gloriously braised pork with carrots and potatoes.

A meeting between damned souls as they smile and shake hands.

My boyfriend sits down right next to me, making sure to squeeze my leg.

He always does that when he's nervous that I'll talk.

My parents wishing that they could be anywhere else than sitting across the way.

Dinner conversation is forced, laughter is calculated, comments are targeted.

I rise from the table, my emotions as unreadable as always.

My little secret is waiting to be shared from just up the stairway.

I look left, right, down the halls, from the foyer to the back door.

Out of sight, out of sound.

A bathroom excuse covers for me as I sneak to the top of my new viewing deck.

Creak...

Chit!

Whoosh!

---

Here I sit at an old wooden desk, it won't be long now.

Neighbors have seen the smoke, running out to the street, calling for help.

I look down at them from my bedroom window.

I am writing a final goodbye, to my parents, boyfriend, and police.

Their screams echo in the walls, the sound of their nails scratching for a way out.

The fire crackling, roaring, unrelenting from just under my feet.

I let out a sigh of relief as I write my final words, smiling.

News anchors will read the story of my "sickening crime" in their broadcasts.

I will already be far away from this realm, taking abuse and feeling pain no more.