The arsonist

Happy. Giddy. Excited. That's how I feel about fire. Mama hated that wanted to burn everything. Once she caught me trying to burn the little girl's playhouse that was next door. I was 8. The little girl always wanted to play house which drove me crazy. I never understood why she wouldn't leave me alone. I figured if I burned down her playhouse she would finally leave me alone. Sadly, mama caught me as I was lighting the match. That's when mama moved us to the edge of town. Mama didn't want people to get suspicious of there always being a fire.  Mama called my love for fire an obsession. I think of it more of a passion. I loved watching the bright flame burn and melt the objects I threw into it. The crackling sound and the heat of the flame put a smile on my face. Mama never made me smile. She smiled though. I always made sure to act like the perfect son. I had to pretend that I wasn't in love with the flame when in public. The whole town was fooled. Then again, we only went to town when we needed supplies. Mama was so worried that someone would figured out my love for fire.   Mama still sent me to school. I hated school. I never fit in. I was bullied. The joke was on them. I was the one that would steal their random items so I could burn them when I got home. That's when I would smile. Mama hated that I would come home and burn stolen items. She would beat me. She would call me the son of Satan. She never made me smile. As I watched the flames consumed her, "Thanks for finally making me smile, Mama."