Shadow was an expert at his job. Flawlessly, he eased open the door, making no noise at all. A king-sized stash of briefcases, doubtlessly full to the brim with cash, was sitting innocently on the stark-white, marble worktop. This did not surprise him however: months and months of planning had gone in to this golden hour. Delicately hoisting the money into his arms, he stalked out of the house and into the porch without even bothering to close the door – it would soon be off its hinges anyway.
Slamming the suitcases onto a hard, wooden bench, he swaggered out of the porch like he had all the time in the world. Kneeling down, he rummaged in his back pocket, snatching out a matchbox. He felt the power coursing through his fingers as he clutched it tightly in his fist. Without his matchbox, he was nothing. Whipping out a match, he swiftly scraped it on the side of the box. The image of the spark instantly disappeared, to be replaced by a turning ball of flame. But the image never left his head.
How such a little thing could cause so much havoc, he wondered. The fumes wafted up towards his nostrils. It was just like honey to him. Throwing his head back maniacally, he took in the perfumed scent. The crackle of the flumes; the devilish grin of the flames; the snake-like glare of the ashes; the fun was about to begin…
Sneaking over to the wooden porch, he tied a rag, yet again, to the pole and splashed gasoline all over it. He thought, ‘Yes, wood should get this house on fire quick enough.’ Setting his match on the white washed pole of the porch, he gently caressed it with the tip of the plume of fire. This was the moment he relished every time. Like magic, the fire spread – like a set of dominoes falling. In no time, the fire flickered around every corner and sped across every floorboard. The roof was on fire now too, so that the ‘Manor Villa’ sign was blackening and disintegrating.
Sprinklers immediately dumped heaps of water down onto the deadly chaos, but the fire was just too good for them - without even needing to touch the red-hot flames, the water evaporated in midair. This was the best he had ever felt in years. Better than all the other arsons: none of them had made him feel so alive! The flames licked at the door to the main house, making it scream in pain and splinter on the floor. A gush of protesting flames swarmed into the house, but there were also flames coming back out. A crowd of furious fire rushed at him and engulfed him like they haven’t been fed for days.
It was at this at this moment that he knew he would never make it out alive.
~ The End ~