Burn

He crouched by the curtain surrounded by the sleeping faces of all the tormentors. His piercing blue eyes fixed upon the amber flame emerging from his rusted lighter. Pale and cold to the touch, his face was almost transparent. A crooked smile began to form, his psychotic mind created malicious ways to see all the incompetent bullies crumble.

Burn. Burn.

The words echoed through his head. Lifting his hand to his charcoal curls, his hands were trembling. His eyes were wide with glee. He snickered. The more he thought of watching the building burn, the furniture and the children, the more he laughed. But what brought him the most joy was the look of the children's faces screaming. His snicker evolved to laughter and ended in an insane cackle.

*

The screeching of the alarm clock woke the boy, no older than the age of thirteen, from his slumber. His ink black curls splattered across the pillow, his icy blue eyes fluttered open. He saw he was the only one in the room. Then the thought that all the other children must have already gone. He looked at the clock to see its face blaring the numbers '9:30.'

Slowly, the boy got out of bed and started getting dressed. As the boy walked down the stairs he could hear snickering coming from the kitchen. He went to investigate, to see that everyone was silenced by his presence. He notices two girls whispering. "Look freaks here." One of the girls laughed. The talking began to reappear. The dark haired boy walked to the kitchen island and took a bite from a blood red apple, then placed it on the counter and left back to his bedroom. A crystal of liquid fell from the translucent skin of the boy. He curled into a ball by the window. He stared into the abyss for hours, thinking. Remembering. The day he first arrived at the orphanage, he was greeted warmly by everyone but as time went on the children's gaze became a cold glare. The day he was first called 'freak,' was vivid in his mind. He was sat in the shadows, under a tree when someone shouted. "Freak, come here." He took no notice of this until he realised someone was now stood in front of him. "When I say come here, you come understand!" As soon as the sentence finished, he got a blow to the stomach, then his face. Until he was black and blue, with blood pouring on his face.

The boy at the window snickered at this memory. The mor she thought, the more an idea came to his head. The boy marched over to his nightstand to see his rusted lighter. He never realised that everyone was asleep now.

He crouched by the curtain. Surrounded by the sleeping faces of his tormentors. His piercing blue eyes fixed upon the amber flame emerging from his rusted lighter. A crooked smile began to form, his psychotic mind created malicious ways to see all the incompetent bullies crumble.

Burn. Burn.

His snickered. The more he thought of watching the building burn, the furniture and the children, the more he laughed. But what brought him the most joy was the look of the children's faces screaming. His snicker evolved to laughter and ended in an insane cackle.

He began to sway his lighter. "I'll make this flame dance around this building." He hissed. He tilted his hand one last time. The corner of the amber flame touched the curtain. He began to set a blaze to all the curtains in the room. Once he was happy with the curtain of smoke he ran to the kitchen. He grabbed a crimson apple and took a penknife from a draw. Sprinting outside he heard a heart wrenching scream. There were more screams, a tempest of wails and screams. Till silence. Just the cackle of flame to wood. The boy took a bite out of the apple, then used the pen knife to carve slits for eyes. To make Ye illusion of a face on the apple. Placing the apple on the door. He sang "my name isn't 'freak', it's James. Rest in peace." James let out a malicious cackle before walking away untouched by the flames.

The date was the 13th of July. The news blared 'Springville Orphanage burnt to the ground.'