The flames licked the windowsill and Ashley knew there was no tomorrow. Outside he could see a large crowd watching the fire as it slowly controlled its surroundings and engulfed the small building, and he considered taking credit for the number of people gathered. It was, after all, his fire. It was just a blunder that caused him to still be in the middle of it.

The fighters appeared in the crowd suddenly, moving through with their large hose like packhorses under a heavy burden. Still, their movements were well rehearsed and Ashley gave them enough credit; they knew what they were doing. He only wished they hadn’t shown up. Not yet. He could only hope that the fire was too developed to be extinguished now.

Yes, he had his reasons. The boy had motives and schemes beyond the normal extent of others. He wanted this house to the ground, and now, for the first time, he realised he had fulfilled his life’s motive. What would he do after the fire? What could he do after the fire? His life was peaking at an early age, too young to want to ever be 50 or 60 years old. Now he decided he was quite happy in the middle of the blaze. It wasn’t a blunder any more, it was ‘the way’, and that as all there was to it.

So when the men appeared with a ladder stretching to his window, and a giant mat on ground level, Ashley panicked. They didn’t understand. Nobody knew it was his fire. He wouldn’t come out on the other side with any credit! He’d be some little martyr who woke up to a blanket of smoke. Sounded good to an extent – if he’d gotten out first. But they knew he was in there. The blame would be coming. Except now, he would be long gone.

Ashley didn’t mind the blame. He only wished that he could have told them why. There were too many reasons – no, there weren’t. Just one. One big enough, though, to have ruined his childhood. Turning eighteen meant Ashley turned intelligent. He suddenly knew why he was a recluse, why he looked on men with fear, why he would still cringe in the darkness at night when he attempted to sleep. All because of that one person, one man, who couldn’t have possibly realised the damage inflicted.

That man was nothing now. Ashley had finally managed to walk past him in the street and not shy away, his eyes downcast. Finally, he had walked past and it wasn’t fear that clouded his eyes, it was acceptance. Acceptance and anger, true, but a controlled hate that he could live with. Everyone needed some hate in their lives, and Ashley had found his medium.

No, it wasn’t the man. It was the sin committed in this house, he thought, looking up at the wooden rafters that were now exposed as the flames swirled amongst them. Ashley noticed the burns on his hands, and up his arms. His cheeks, too, were hot. He touched them lightly and felt the blisters forming, the hot fluid seeping down his face. It didn’t matter. No pain, no achievement. He did it out of rage against the man, pity for the new owners of the house. To live in a house so utterly cursed as this one was now.

That was why he stood in the burning shell of the house. The house he spent his growing years in. The house he learnt and loved in. The house in which he was abused. On impulse he screamed, down to the crowd.

"THIS IS CURSED! DO NOT APPROACH! LEAVE ME TO DIE!"

He saw families watching with pained expressions. Fathers shielding their daughters from the heat of the blaze, fathers with their sons on their shoulders so as to get a better look. Scanning the crowd, he saw one father in particular. One man. One man in a crowd of so many, but the only man this fire was created for. Ashley added to his short speech.

"LOVE YOUR CHILDREN! PROTECT THEM WITH THE LOVE YOU HAVE FOR THEM. THE LOVE I NEVER KNEW…"

Then he waited for the flames to engulf him as they had the house. He didn’t wait long.