All I did was light a match. I was sick and tired of their bullshit - sick and tired of them acting like they were better than everyone. I needed to smoke some weed. I snuck outside while they did their best to impress the guests who were just as fucked up as they were. If they knew that I smoked weed they’d have disowned me immediately. It was all about maintaining appearances with them. They were lucky I didn’t smoke crack after being raised by such hypocrites.

I went outside and pulled a joint out of my pocket, looking for my lighter. It wasn’t in the pocket of my blazer so I knew that it had probably fallen out in the house somewhere. I had to find it before they did. A stray lighter in the home of a well to do family would raise suspicion from the guests, and likely a beating from my parents. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to escape this hell hole. I snuck back inside to find the lighter. I wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble but I also wanted to get high. I scoured the house for the damn thing but it was nowhere to be found. Heading into the kitchen, I grabbed the book of matches that had been carefully tucked away to light emergency candles in case of a power outage. Throwing it in my pocket, I snuck back outside and grabbed the joint.

It had been a really dry summer and the grass was brown and ugly looking. The trees were half dead and none of the plants in the garden survived. Too bad considering how much money they spent on full time gardening staff. Striking the match, a glowing orange flame came to life at my fingertips. I lit my joint and inhaled as much of that sweet smoke as I could. I welcomed the light haze of oblivion that I knew would follow. I finished the joint and threw the roach on the ground. I threw the match on the ground along with it and took a moment to stare up at the starry sky. There was never anything as satisfying as smoking a fat one and appreciating nature. I looked at the sky and wondered if there were other life forms up there. It took me a minute to clue in to the fire that had started on the lawn. It was a smoulder at first, and honestly I was so stoned that I took pleasure in the pretty orange flames that started to dance around on the ground. The flames grew even bigger as they spread to the pile of dead branches and leaves that the gardeners had left behind the house. It all seemed so natural - how the flames began to grow as they were fed. Soon enough they had grown to cover the pile of branches and moved gracefully toward the house to share its warm embrace. I smiled as the fire quickly consumed the house in its entirely, as if cleansing the evil out of it. I’d never have to go back into that house again. I’d never have to be beaten again. I’d never have to locked in a room without food for days to ameliorate my sins. It was finally over.

Since the fire, people think I should be sad that I lost the only family I ever knew. They can’t understand how I walked away from that fire physically and emotionally unscathed. Of course, the investigation was inconclusive. They couldn’t prove that I was responsible for the fire that killed my parents but my absence of grief has raised suspicion.

I didn’t cry at the funeral. That made people uncomfortable - it was like my absence of emotion sent them over the edge. Soon I was ostracized by the whole community.

Needless to say, I was sick of the bullshit. I needed a change. For the first time in my life I had nothing holding me back. I hung around long enough for the inheritance money to be deposited then left without saying ‘goodbye’.