5 Minute Reads | Anthology

Playing with Fire By robertswilson

By robertswilson 

Playing with Fire

I think about the axe handle my daddy used to beat me with as I stand shaking and sweating in front of the burning house. Orange, glowing embers shoot out at random; large, black and gray ashes fall from the roof, floating to the ground like feathers.

I think about how my daddy wrapped one end of that long piece of timber in electric tape to protect his worn and blistered hands. How the other end resembled an anvil like the ones they drop on people's heads on Saturday morning cartoons.

Daddy screams out from inside the burning structure in front of me, sending a sweet chill up my spine.

My eyes roll back in my head as the flames rise steadily toward the sky. I relive each and every time he caught me lying and splashed gasoline on my legs and set my pants aflame.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," he would yell as I rolled around on the ground, slapping at my legs to put them out. Another chance would come and I would lie again, longing, hoping he would catch me. The more he fueled the flame, the more it grew inside me.

An adult now, I stand outside his new house where he lives with his new family. Faraway sirens cry out for attention, slowly growing louder. I ignore them as the wind blows flaming kisses toward my body. I smile and imagine them as my father's last goodbye.

A weak muffled cough stumbles out from inside the house. My heart quickens and dread overtakes me. I run to the back of the crackling, whining structure, pushing against a wave of pressure as I try to find the source of that sound. A child's scream erupts over the flames. My stepbrother is only thirteen and long ago took my place as the subject of my father's affections. The fire roars as it reaches for the stars, doubling in size in the blink of an eye. I pace back and forth, trying to build the courage to go inside. He screams again, his voice close--he might just make it out alive... I yell to him.

"Gavin, stay where you are, I'm coming."

I probe the burning structure for a way to get in and wonder if Gavin has the same swollen cigarette burns on his body that I adorn beneath my shirt. I find an opening where the back door no longer stands. Two large pieces of wall lean against each other in an unsteady triangle. As I step toward them, one starts to slide and fall, blocking the way with a burst of rolling flames. I scan the rubble for another second chance. Everywhere, yellow and black tongues engulf the wood, drywall, and siding, breaking them down into ash and more fire. Gavin bellows out one last long blood-curdling scream and then silence. I stand there listening.

"Gavin?"

Nothing.

"GAVIN?"

Only the rumbling returns my call and I weep.

A white and orange van rushes up the road and swerves to a halt in front of the house, blue and red lights flashing from its top. Tears blurring vision, I hold my hands out before me, pointing them toward the screaming blinding banshee on wheels. In a burst of scorching metal, the ambulance explodes and God's invisible hand throws my body backwards.

Rising to my feet and pulling my hood tight over my head, I step out onto black pavement and walk away as the van gives birth to a rolling inferno.

I wipe my eyes and fight the urge to rain fire up into the heavens.

I take a deep breath and exhale and my fury melts into a peaceful calm.

No one will ever take my daddy away from me again.