The flames licked the side of the house, turning its beautiful chestnut walls to a charcoal black. The smoke rose into the air in a billowing cloud, filling the air with its scent. The loud cracks of the fire brought about screams from bystanders. People were terrified of the flames.

It made Roy laugh. How could anyone be afraid of such a beautiful sight? Hidden from the view of bystanders or the firefighters who were likely to come soon, he took a few more steps toward the burning building, careful that he was still safe. He basked in its heat, smiling as he felt sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his face.

“Thank you for burning so beautifully,” he whispered to his lighter, cupped gently in his hands. “You and I have created such a lovely sight.”

Then he heard the sirens and, with a sigh and an eye roll, he took off away from the house, so he would not be forced to take credit for this spectacle.

Oh how he wanted to take credit, but he knew taking credit would mean jail, and jail was the last place he wanted to be. Jail was stone, cold and wet and grey. He couldn’t have his lighter in jail, and even with it there would be nothing to burn. So he was content with knowing that he had caused such a beautiful fire.

Some would call him a criminal for it, like the law would. Roy thought that was horrid. He never burnt anything that wasn’t abandoned or at least unoccupied, he always made sure the houses were empty before he set them ablaze. It wasn’t a crime, Roy believed. It was art. And why put an artist behind bars for practicing his craft?

+++

Weeks passed without event. Roy had been burning the scrap paper in his mother’s study, clapping in joy as the flame swallowed the white paper and charred it to black. Still, he craved to display his art publicly once again.

He walked out one evening into the woods, wishing he could burn the trees. But the trees gave life, and his art wasn’t worth their untimely end. So he continued on, until he came upon a cabin. Excited, he whipped out his lighter and dashed toward the building. Then he paused. He needed to make sure it was clear. No one that would burn or notice the art he was about to display until he was a safe distance away.

He walked to the door and turned the knob. Unlocked. He felt his heart sink. People didn’t leave the door unlocked when they were out. Stepping inside, he searched the house. The lights were out, the place was silent. After much searching, he found no one.

Once he was certain the house was clear, he walked around the back and pulled out his lighter. He rubbed it affectionately, as if it were a living thing and not an inanimate chunk of metal and plastic.

After many attempts and many techniques, he managed to set the house aflame. Grinning, he ran back slightly into the trees to hide himself but still have a good view of his handiwork.

It was marvellous. The snaps and crackles of the flames, the signature smell of smoke and burning wood, now mixed with the smell of pine… He took in the view of his masterpiece as the flames began to consume the house.

Then, as he watched, fear began to paint his features. His eyes widening, he realized the blaze had burned away a part of the roof, and now he could see a large attic that he had never checked for people.

Then Roy heard the scream.