An arsonists cookbook

Prologue

She was perfect. The way she walked, heavy on her feet. The way she smelt, cheap perfume but that's how he liked it. Her dress, tacky and leopard printed, just like the others. Her lipstick smeared on her upper-lip, it was deep purple and not the slightest bit matching her outfit. Her eyeliner was thick and heavy, black as the ace of spades in a card deck. The 6-inch high heels scraped on the floor, they were two sizes too big. She obviously was trying to act high class when she wasn't even working. He knew she was perfect, it would be easy. He looked down at the oak bar he was standing at, the golden glitter of the whiskey staring back him. The tall bar stool he was resting on wobbled even under his average weight. He saw his long black hair in the reflection of the crystal cut glass, for being a middle aged man his hair made him look young. It was a good thing, for him. She came and sat next to him. Perfect. He thought. He looked at her with his emerald eyes and that's when he knew he had her in his clutches. Her hazel eyes watched as he took a swig of his bronze alcohol. The now blood-hot liquid eased its way down his veiny throat. The sluggish bartender was at the other end of the long u-shaped bar. This was his chance.
"Hey, how about I show you the time of your life? Starting here?" He asked the lady. She was about fifty years old, he knew for sure the suave approach would work. He brushed his hair to the side and held her small hands in his hardened fingers. He kissed her knuckles, not the back of her hand for a ladies hand is too precious to touch, as a gentleman he knew that.
"If you want, honey" she replied in her clearly matured voice. He took her onto the dance floor, his good looks dazzling her in the poorly lit room. Not many people were in the bar so they had he floor to themselves. He pulled her closer with his manly hands, her small waist pressed against his. He could see the excite in her alcohol influenced eyes.
"How about I take you some place better than this run down dump?" He whispered in her ear as he rested her head on his high and broadened shoulders. She let out a little giggle before nodding. Easy as it gets. He thought to himself. He knew she was desperate by the way she was dressed, she had clearly been drinking.

He lead her outside, where she kissed him. The filthy cow has just kissed me. He didn't let any of his fury be noticed as he smoothly kissed back. He slowly waltzed her to the road outside and walked her down toward an old dock which had rotted away with the passing times. Its rickety old boards were perfect for his plan. He sat next to her near the edge. He began kissing her and she closed her eyes. He pulled a small pocket knife out of the pocket on the inside of his dove grey blazer and, as she was distracted, forced it into her throat. Ripping her voice box in two. Her eyes shot open and she instantly started to spew blood. It ran down her dress as he tore out the knife, taking tendons with it. He watched as she squirmed on the ground. His suave smile and now turned into a devious grin. He revealed a small bottle of lighter fluid out of his inside pocket, it was matching size of the pocket knife. As she crawled the boards began to break beneath her. She was going nowhere. Her poured the lighter fluid on her wriggling body and pulled out a small blue lighter out of his breast pocket along with a cigarette. He lit the lighter fluid and watched as she gurgled as the pain of the fire increased. He watched as she stopped moving and became a human candle. Motionless. He leant over, with the cigarette in hand. He lit the cigarette on the flames of the women's burning corpse and took a puff. He took out a note and walked away to the grass just in front of the dock and placed it on the moist ground as the docks became a fireball. The note read 'we all will fall victims to the beauty of the flames of hell'. He then disappeared into the dark night. Perfect.