Burn

Burn: From the Thoughts of Clara.

Clara Jess Limonte

Mummy and daddy have been fighting for a long time. They both went off into their own separate little worlds, hiding from the reality they both refuse to face. Now my sisters and I have to do everything ourselves. I keep finding daddy with a tall blonde woman. His hands are always travelling, lips intertwining. The dirty liar. It was so wrong. Trying to take daddy away from mommy. No one is taking care of us. We're going to go hungry. Sick. Injured. We need a miracle... But...There is a way to fix it. If the lady weren't with daddy, he and mommy could be happy again...

Her name is Anne. She has agreed to take me to the shed out back to paint a picture. She thinks I love her. I have never met a person more wrong. So many things that I could do to make sure she never came back.. so many ways I could get caught. Is this right? Is it wrong to kill? ...

No.

She deserves it. For taking daddy away. She is mixing my favourite colour, blue. Nobody will ever figure it out.. It'll be easy. Daddy keeps a lighter in his drawer. It feels good in my hand. Powerful. Ready. Right. It wants me to do it. I push the switch forward with my thumb slowly, listening to the satisfying click. Pulling back the trigger carefully, I watch as a small flame emerges from the open tip. The flame's faint sound, is like a soft breath, floating through the air. Fire is beautiful, the way it moves, glows. It's alive. I slowly lower the flame to the wooden floor, right beside a flask of gasoline. Something pulls me on, helping me. No one never believed them when they said I was insane.. Insane people aren't aware of what they do. I know what I am doing. They are so wrong. I watch the flames, as if in slow motion, explode to life around the container. I smile as she screams and turns around. I put the lighter back swiftly and look to her with scared eyes, running into her arms. She pulls me close, walking to the door. I had locked it after entering, so there was no way she was opening it. She pulled frantically at the door, holding me tight. Her breathing is frantic and occasional coughs escape her throat. This is so easy. This is so fun. Soon, we're surrounded by flames, smoke screening our vision. I am almost laughing. This was absolutely genius. Geniuses aren't crazy. I tumble out of her arms as she falls to the ground and crawl underneath a table. I watch as the flames surround her, smothering her in the gorgeous light and searing heat. Father is screaming outside, and I can hear sirens. An intense pain in my leg makes me cry out. I hear a determined yell outside, "MY DAUGHTER'S IN THERE!"

Soon the firefighters found me, wrapping me in a blanket before laying her charred, lifeless body beside me. I pretend to cry a little, but I'm smiling on the inside. The sounds of the fire start to die down as I feel daddy swaddling me in his arms, telling me I'll be alright. My sisters are worried for me, but I can see that they are secretly happy. After all, I'd do anything for the people I love. Because blood is blood, and it is far thicker than any sickness they can label you with.

An accident they said.

Frayed wires.

Faulty equipment.

How wrong they were.

~-~-~-~

On my eleventh birthday I was sent in to Cheristin Institute. Mother, father and the lady with all of the folders said that it was house for children who were 'off-minded'. They really didn't have to play around the words like that. It's not like I was a child who just witnessed the death of a friend and didn't quite understand. I knew I was being sent to a psychotic ward for children. The night before, my eldest sister, Amalè, had made me my favourite cake. My youngest sister Deina had sewed me a stuffed rabbit, though it was made with mother's help, as she was only 3, telling me it's name was Ember. This was what got me suspicious, especially when my parents refused to speak with me. My sisters treated me like a piece of broken glass that night; like they were trying to pick me up without breaking me any further.