THE ART OF BURNING

VII: THE MAGIC PAC-MAN RIVER

[ ━━ ❝ ✧˚⋆｡☾✩˚⋆｡࿐❞ ━━ ]
CAIN

I HAVEN'T SET ANYTHING ON FIRE since I burned my school down.

Arson is an art form. It takes practice, skill, dedication. When you don't paint for a while, or when you don't sing for a while, you start to lose your talent, that little spark that sets you apart from the crowd. The same goes for the art of burning.

So, naturally, setting this stranger's house ablaze is difficult. I can hardly manage to conjure up more than a spark. But my friends are forwards-thinking. They find a red jerrycan in the barn and douse the house in kerosene.

The power of friendship makes arson as easy as 1-2-3. All it takes is a spark to set the buildings ablaze; I snap my fingers, and, like a trail of dominos, a snake of fire hisses into the house.

Just doing that much with my power is overwhelming. As the house catches fire, and the four of us stumble back from the inferno, I nearly black out. Atlas has to hold me up, and we watch as the house crackles and sparks and burns. Ugly smears of yellow and red and orange defile the sky like like vomit, and thick, heavy fingers of smoke claw at the clouds, blotting out the sun. It looks like the blaze is the only thing holding the world up.

And that's it. No fireworks, no applause, no glitter. There's not even enough pizzazz to be considered the ol' razzle-dazzle. It's just me and a burning house.

After that spectacle, we start headed west. As we walk, we gorge ourselves with granola bars, multivitamins, and lukewarm water, and nobody says much of anything. I try to stimulate some good old zesty conversation.

"Some weather we're having," I say.

They act like they don't hear me. I decide maybe a question will be a better route. It'll give them something to build off of.

"What's your opinion on gold-based currency?"

I know something's wrong, because even Meredith doesn't answer me. The girl has an opinion and a half on gold-based currency. Last year, she wrote a twenty-page thesis on why she thinks it's bullshit and we should all go back to a trade-and-barter system for fun.

"Mer." I wrap my arm around her shoulder. "What's wrong, boo?"

She shoves it off, wrapping her arms around her chest. "I killed a man," Meredith says, her voice cold as ice, eyes dark as bloodstained earth. "I killed a man and you want my opinion on finance and the weather!"