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Firestarter
by Gillian Scott
The alleyway was the perfect vantage point; he could watch without being detected, secure in the knowledge that his clothing allowed him to blend in with rest of the cities outcast and destitute. It was colder than he had expected and he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. He searched in the pocket for his cigarettes, and lit up the last of his camels. Inhaling deeply he watched the embers glow in the dark. The nicotine steadied his nerves and he blew smoke rings into the chilly night air waiting for the 'fireworks' to begin! His adrenaline-laced body started to tingle in anticipation of the action to come. Beads of perspiration clung to his brow as the much anticipated rush coursed through his veins making his heart beat faster. The explosion rocked the building, sending debris through the air like confetti on a breeze. He listened to the screams of the helpless and shuddered in climax! It was the apex to a twisted and tortured mind. He heard the sirens in the distance, and imagined them running red-lights in a mad-dash endeavor to save the day! NYPD's finest at their best.
His fascination with fire had started long ago when as a small boy of seven or eight, he had witnessed his mother attempting to torch their apartment. Her crazed manner and incoherent ramblings would stay with him forever. More afraid of her than he had ever been, he ran as fast as he could to the stairwell and set off the alarm. He had saved lives that day and the firemen had patted him on the head and told him that he was a very brave boy. What had stuck in his memory most was his mothers beatific, smiling face and the look of absolute rapture as she lit the match. It had been both terrifying and yet spell-binding all at the same time, and had ignited his fixation with flame forever. The fire department and ambulance's had arrived and taken his mother away and he had never seen her again! But he would always remember, the bright and scintillating luster of the dancing flames. His father, over-wrought with grief, had taking to the bottle drowning his sorrows in 'Johnny Walker Black.' Regrettably, he had failed to stop! Emotionally spent and eventually completely detached from society, he had left his young son to fend for himself and the boy had. A quick and intelligent child, by the time he had grown to adulthood he was a seasoned player in a cruel and harsh world. Manipulative, street smart and cunning, he walked the streets like he owned them. A loner who lacked compassion. A heartless man in an unsympathetic world where only the strong survived!
The combined smell of scorched flesh and burning fuel permeated the air as the blazing combustion crackled and sparked consuming everything in its pathway, its only desire was to grasp at what it needed to survive. All around, the intensity of heat singed, burned and blackened as the flames rose higher and higher. Smoke billowed from buildings casting the night air into a hazy, choking smog that covered lower Manhattan. The battle-some blaze showed no mercy in its lascivious lust, lashing out at its assailants. Its wrath knew no bounds in a fight to the death, in a fight to win. A living, breathing, fiend on a mission of destruction, it fought the city's finest for control. Across the street hidden deep in the shadows, the hooded figure watched. He was senselessly aroused by the wanton carnage, riveted by what he had wreaked. His coal black eyes, glazed over in euphoria and he briefly looked like what he was; a sadistic psychopath, a demented and deranged individual who obtained his jollies from despicable acts of cruelty. As the fire raged on, he flicked the cigarette butt into the gutter. His work here was done, and whistling softly he wandered off into the night ...
His cell phone rang. "Hey Joe, where ya been? We gotta an outta-controller on the corner of 3rd and Lexington. All hands needed. A couple of the guy's said it looks like the work of the creep that the cops are calling the 'serial arsonist.' Ten fatalities so far, and plenty injured. You comin or what?"
"Yeah, I'll be right there. Let me just get suited up."
Joe took off his jacket and hung it by the hood on the hook inide the locker... God he loved his job, he had worked hard putting himself through the rigors of the firefighters academy and it had paid off. He was the best on the force, everyone said so! He smiled as he grabbed his firemen's helmet and swung down the pole, it was time to go play hero!
I was born in the U.K. and emigrated to the U.S. in 1981. I have been writing for several years purely for pleasure and it is always an honor to be published. I am 57 years old and reside in Tamarac, South Florida with my husband of fifteen years. Contact Gillian.
