Beyond The Tracks

The town echoed in silence and the streets were vacant bar a couple of drunk people heading home after a long night in the local pub.

However, one girl dressed head to toe in black, stood out.

She steadily made her way through the alleyways and towards it. She only knew she had one shot; messing this up would result in a firestorm of hatred from the townsfolk.

But, she knew, if this was perfectly executed, a whole new life was ahead of her.

That excited her beyond belief.

After about ten minutes of sneaking and hiding from police patrolling the area, she had made it. And not a moment too soon either, she realised, watching the sun poke its head up from the neighbouring buildings. She knew very well that people would be awaking from their slumber right about now, but the people in the north of the town wouldn't stir until about another hour or two. She had time.

She slung off her black backpack within moments of reaching the foundation of the building.

First out came the bottles, then came out the rag. Her lighter came flying out next, hitting the concrete below with a tremendous thud. Still, no one heard her. And how would anyone? She was alone. This task - what some may call terrorism, but what she modestly called 'completing a job' - was best done in silence and alone in one's head.

She laid out her equipment as if this were some bizarre surgery and got to work.

She pulled out the gasoline. This was the step which she couldn't afford to damage; if it was too full, it wouldn't catch and if it wasn't full enough, it wouldn't catch. It was all about finding the Goldilocks amount, she realised, pouring in just the right amount in.

She got the rags and tightly stuffed them inside the bottle's tight mouth. This step was also vital. If the rag wasn't in far enough, this wouldn't explode the way it was meant to. It would just lay there and fester on the floor. And consequently, stick her to this town. She really didn't like the thought, so she whacked it away (as if she were whacking away some pesky insect) and stuffed the rag in assuring it was perfect.

She poured in some tar so the flames would spread, burning down whatever stood in its way.

She prepared three, in total. One for the left window, one for the right and one for the window at the top of this structure.

This had what several months of challenges finally led up to. She constantly shook with fear and exhilaration growing deep inside. She lit the first one, her hands barely able to grip the glass, and threw it.
It roared through the window and landed inside, sparking a fire which blazed ten feet high.

She threw the second one. It didn't go in the window but struck the stone exterior of the wall but it didn't matter; the inside was already glowing a deep orange. The third one however, glided through the top glass with an eerie ease.

She stood back, smiling as every inch of this place burned to kingdom come.

As she looked towards the heath overlooking the town in the far distance, she saw him and he saw her. From this amount of distance, it was very difficult to tell but the man she admired most was holding it in his arms.

Was it really her time? Was this it? What years of crime led up to?

She turned around, headed for the iron gate guarding this magnificent structure and wheeled around, picking up her backpack. Leaving that behind would be a dumb mistake, yet a mistake we have all made in the past.

The gate squealed as if it were an animal in mortal pain, but it didn't stir a soul. Although, as her eyes looked at the windows of the houses nearby, the glints of amber sun blinded her but also filled her with some guilt; she felt oddly watched. They looked very much like eyes, she thought, as she flipped up her hood to hide her exposed face. She couldn't break under pressure now, this was the last task, she simply couldn't break under mere pressure because some windows gave her the creeps. That would be a coward's way of ending this tale, but oh no! Not for this young lady. She was not a coward.