The Symphony of Flames

1
The boy watched as the house burned. A great crackle was heard as sparks flew straight into the air. The orange and yellow glow of the sweltering hot fire reflecting in the eyes of the boy. Firefighters rushed past, spraying water. The boy watched in amusement. But he didn't laugh. Only the twisted expression on his face showed any sound of enjoyment. He knew the water would not work. The water would not destroy his masterpiece.

2
The boy walked through the hallway of his junior high school, smiling as he went. He was well liked in school. He had thick wavy hair, and white teeth that people were amazed by. He often heard rude remarks made about his name, but he didn't care. He didn't care for most people. His cold indifference for others was masked by his good looks and charming smile. He shoved past someone in the hallway, accidentally making them drop their books. A few unrepeatable words were mentioned, but the boy didn't notice or hear. He simply walked to his locker, opened it, got his backpack, and got on the bus. His entire life had been like an endless metronome. On and on and on.

3

The boy arrived home to find his mother and father sitting on the couch watching the television. He walked straight past, and up to his room. His parents rarely noticed him, and when they did, they were yelling at, or beating him. He hated them, and he was happy to admit it. He didn’t care or feel for most people, but he hated them.

The orange glow flared over the trees in the distance, turning them into dark silhouettes against the light. He watched as the forest burned, and found quiet delight in knowing that this was his work of art. This was true beauty, the glow of fire, the crackle of snapping wood, the bright colors and elegant plume of smoke. This was his, and no one would take it.

The news was about the repeated fires that night. The reporter said that it was likely an arsonist, someone bent on destruction. You fool, thought the boy. Who are you to stop true art? This is beauty, and you will ruin it. The boy’s face suddenly twisted in an expression of enraged excitement, and he hurled a shoe at the television, as he got up and began to bang his head on the wall.

“IT’S MINE, IT’S MINE, IT’S MINE!!!!” he screamed, as he heard his father yelling at him from upstairs. A beating was sure to come.

4

The fire engulfed the house, as the boy sat calmly on a chair. The wall behind him toppled, sending sparks flying, and sweat dripped down his face. He watched as the flames swallowed the staircase. The stairs he had walked up and down so many times. He looked at this spectacle. He felt like a composer who had made his greatest symphony, a philosopher who had unlocked the secrets of life. And as sirens blared in the distance, and flames started to lick against the boys skin, he smiled. And what happened next?

The boy laughed.





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