Her

I love the burn.

One flick and the flame bursts forth between my fingers. It is so easy- just a roll of the thumb and I hold what mankind had taken eons to discover and harness. In the glow of the street light, I watch as the flame licks the air, a hungry tongue searching for something, tasting the night’s shadows. I release and the light vanishes. Another flick - the sound of my thumb against the metal - and it returns, still hungry, always hungry. I know it needs to feed soon. I know I cannot keep it waiting.

           The night is warm and sweet. The June air is still hot from the afternoon sun, but I wear my hoodie anyway. The sun set hours ago and night has settled around the town. I flick up my hood before stepping off the sidewalk and walking to the gate. It’s locked with a heavy chain looped through the bars. The chain is rusted and weighted down by a padlock, which, by the looks of it, has been there so long I doubt anyone has the key anymore. Not that I need one anyway. I crouch and pull off my backpack, setting it down on the ground next to me. I unzip it and am met with the sweet scent of the treasure inside. The bolt cutter is easy to find even in the darkness and with one hard jerk the padlock gives way. I manage to catch it before it falls and set it down softly on the concrete. No reason to be making any loud noises. I pull the chain and it slithers from the gate, banging into the bars on the way out. I check over my shoulder, but the street is silent. I can feel her in my pocket, waiting. She is dying to be fed and growing impatient with each passing moment.

           “Don’t rush me!” I whisper. I set the chain down beside the lock and pull the gate open. The hinges shriek in protest. I look around to make sure no one has heard. The street is silent, everyone tucked away for the night.  After several moments, I enter through the gate, my backpack dangling off one shoulder.

           The door to the front of the building is locked, but gives in under one slam of my shoulder. The door flies open and a gust of cool, musty air hits my face. The room reeks of old paint and sawdust. I shut the door behind me, shutting out the only light from the street. I pull the flashlight from my backpack and flick it on. A stream of light appears, but it’s not the same as her. The flash light is only a caricature, a fraud. It only wishes it could be her. I shine the light around the massive room, checking every corner and crevice. It’s empty. I don’t waste any time before I get to work. There is a lot of ground to cover.

           The metal cans are cold in my hands as I pull them from my backpack. Even before opening them I can smell the sweet concoction inside. The liquid splashes against the sides and from my pocket I can feel her purring. She reminds me to hurry up. I open the cans and empty the delicious mixture onto the floor as I walk across the room, watching the yellow fluid splash against the concrete. I need to get as much of the place as I can. I jerk the can, spraying the walls. A few rats in the corner scatter as I approach. I aim for them, but the liquid misses them by inches and hits the wall instead. I feel her against my thigh again, telling me not to play games, that I had a job to do. I finish and throw the cans into the middle of the floor.

           I reach into my pocket and feel the cold metal in my palm. I pull her out, not before rubbing my fingertips over the smooth surface of her frame. In one quick motion she is open, ready to devour and I don’t deprive her anymore. I flick my finger and she appears, beautiful and whole and wanting. I lower her to the ground and watch as she bursts forward from her metal prison, leaping across the room, bound after bound. She spreads, following the path I made for her, climbing the walls and reaching to the ceiling. I watch as she feeds, devours the air and concrete and pillars, her voice speaking to me, a crackle of flame. Smoke fills the room and my eyes burn. I cannot stay much longer, but I wish I could stay forever and watch her, this dance, growing bigger and bigger as she devours everything in sight. I pick up my backpack from the ground and make for the door.

I step into the night air, which seems much cooler now compared to inside. It is quiet, but I know soon there will be sirens and nervous onlookers, their faces illuminated in flashing red and blue. I run my thumb over the cool metal. She is pleased with me. I have done well tonight. I smile and make my way back out of the gate and down the street, watching as my shadow stands stark against the yellow glow of the street lights. I pull my hood up again and begin the long walk home.

*                     *                     *

Sunlight streams in the dirty window and pierces through my eyelids. I roll over and find it is morning, the night having dissolved away around me. I sit up and reach for her, to make sure she is there. She is, waiting patiently for me. I pull back the blanket, revealing the yellowing bare mattress beneath. My hoodie is on the floor and I press it against my face. The scent of last night lingers there, the smoke and ash. I arrived home and watched from the street as smoke spilled into the sky on the horizon. Sirens blared down the streets and vanished into the night. I sat on the curb for a long time, watching the sky turn darker as, a mile away, she ate the remains of the building until there was nothing but dust.

           In the living room, Mom sits, smoking a cigarette from her regular spot in the recliner. Smoke from the cigarette curls around her fingers, like a playful cat. The TV is on, a blonde news anchor saying some mindless babble.

“There has been another fire last night, according to police reports, on 45^th and Main street. The Campbell Soup factory, which was shut down five years ago, has been the target of arson. Police suspect it is the same arsonist as the previous three fires set in the last two months. The arsonist broke into the factory and used a charcoal grill accelerant, according to the fire marshal. So far there are no leads. We ask anyone who may know anything to contact authorities.”

           I stare at the TV screen as the footage shows the charred remains of the factory, the leftovers of a feast. Police and firefighters examine the scene, shifting through the rubble. One fire fighter holds a molten shape in his hands I recognize as one of the gasoline cans. I think of the flames of the night before, the way they consumed the building down to nothing. I wish I could do it again tonight, but I need to be patient. If I don’t plan carefully, I will get caught and she will be left alone. She needs me. All good things come to those who wait.

I step out of the door and shut it behind me. The street is empty; it is too hot to be outside. I scan the row of houses down the street and smile as I imagine each going up in flames, one by one. Soon the whole street would be lit like a Christmas tree, yellow and orange flames billowing into the sky. I sit down on the front steps and shove my hands in my pockets. I let the memories come, playing like an old movie behind my eyes. No fire would be as good as the first time. It took a lot of planning and weeks of searching to find the perfect place. She had wanted me to do it for so long and I couldn’t deprive her anymore.

It all began late one night, the first time I heard her voice speak to me in the darkness. At first, I thought I had imagined it when I heard someone whisper my name in my empty bedroom. I rolled over and looked around but saw no one. I sat up and found the source of the voice was coming from my nightstand. I lifted my lighter and held it in my hand, listening to the voice emerge from within. I was mesmerized by her voice and fell into a trance as she spoke. She was older than mankind, she told me. She was older than the mountains and the rivers. She was part of the sun, the lightning, the stars. Men had worshipped her once, had sacrificed animals in her honor, had wept in fear at the sight of her. But now, she had been forgotten, alone. She was harnessed, trapped. She needed to be free, to consume, to kill, to feast. She had been contained so long and was so hungry, so hungry. She needed me, someone who would be loyal, who would kneel before her power. I asked what would she have me do and she told me. I was to be her servant and I would be rewarded with treasures I could not yet imagine.

           The weeks after were filled with planning. I searched the streets, looking for the perfect place. I bought the lighter fluid and made sure to pay in cash. With each day I didn’t fulfill my duty she grew more impatient with me. I would have to act soon, I knew. But one fire wasn’t enough and soon she needed more. I knew this last fire would not sustain her for long. She needed more, she always needed more.

The first house was an abandoned dump which had sat rotting on the side of the street for years. I passed the sign which said the house had been condemned and entered through the remains of the sagging front door. A few beer cans and food wrappers covered the floors, remainders of the squatters of years past. The stench of filth was suffocating. I searched the house to make sure there was no one inside before I dumped the lighter fluid on the floors. I doused it through each room and left the cans in the middle to burn. I could feel her, buzzing with anticipation, ordering me to hurry. My stomach twisted and turned with nerves. I kept stealing glances out of the dirty window to make sure no one was outside. My hands were clumsy as I worked and I almost dropped the can three times. Finally, I finished and set the tip of the lighter to the trail of gasoline on the floor and my nerves vanished at the sight. For the first time I saw her as she was, in all of her glory. I had only seen a small taste of her in the weak flame that sprouted between my fingers from my lighter. She emerged, growing higher and wider and fatter and I watched with tears in my eyes as she surrounded me, her form beautiful beyond words. She was a goddess and I knew then that I would serve her for as long as I could. I was a slave to her, to her power, her beauty, her strength. I tucked her away again into my pocket and went outside to watch from the street as she fed on the flesh of the house, licking the bones clean. When the fire department arrived, I slipped back into the shadows and away into the night.

           A few weeks after the first fire she spoke to me again. Her voice was soft but fierce all at once. She spoke from her spot on my nightstand. I knew it was a voice only I could hear. She didn’t just speak to anyone. You needed to be special. You needed to be chosen. She wanted to feed again, but more this time. I told her I would find her somewhere the next day. I rose early the following morning and searched the city. I walked for hours, not daring to rest until I found what she desired. The building rose up against the skyline like an oasis in the desert. It was dusk and I stood before it, exhausted, having walked for hours without rest. It would do perfectly. The next night I watched from a nearby alley as fire trucks flooded the street. The men leapt from their trucks and unraveled the massive hoses, but they could do nothing to stop her wrath. Eventually the fire dwindled and died and all that was left was the shell of a building, scorched and crumbling.

A car honks and I emerge from my memories with a jerk. I stand, wiping the sweat from my forehead and step back inside. The TV continues to blare, a news anchor talking about school budget cuts or something. As I enter the living room, Mom doesn’t take her eyes off of the television.

“Where did you go?” she barks at me. When I don’t reply, she wrenches her gaze from the television and her beady eyes are on me. “Andrew? I am talking to you? Andrew!”

I make my way down the hall to my bedroom and shut the door, muffling her screams from the recliner. Once the door is closed, I pull my lighter from my pocket. She is silent today, but that is not unusual. She usually only speaks to me when she needs to feed.

           That night, as I toss and turn in bed under the oppressive heat, she speaks to me again. She is hungry already. However, she needs more this time, so much more. Not just one building would please her, she needed as much as she could consume, an entire block, a forest, a mountain. She wanted to leave miles of scorched land in her wake. She wanted to hear the screams of the those who ran in terror from her wrath. She needed the world to know she was still one to be feared. They had tried to contain and control her, thought they would call her at their will with their flints and lighters, summoned her for years with the strike of a match. She would take back the freedom they had taken from her. To do that she needed to send a message. And to send a message she needed me.

           Within minutes, I am out of bed, packing what I will need. I take the small amount of clothes I have and shove them in a used duffle bag. I take all the money from Mom’s wallet and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. I watch from the shadows in the living room as she snores in the chair, her mouth hanging open, showing teeth which she had sacrificed to cigarettes and whiskey. For a moment, I wonder if I should wake her, to say goodbye, but then I toss the thought away.

I walk out of the front door and shut it behind me. I will never pass through this door again, that I am certain. The street is quiet, a gentle breeze occasionally tickling the trees. I touch my thigh and feel her there. I don’t know what is going to happen, but as long as we are together, it will be okay. I hoist the bag higher up on my shoulder and begin to walk east where the horizon is littered with skyscrapers. They will stand tall, for now, but soon they will fall in her wake when she is released. Soon they will know her name and burn.

           They will all burn.