It went up like a Christmas tree starved of water for too long, dried skin easy fuel for the flames.
I stood there watching the colours flicker—orange, red, and yellow—as I cursed what my father had become. I didn’t feel sadness for what had happened—I knew he was in a better place now.
But I should have known that sometimes Murphy’s Law rang true.
As it stumbled around, its body burning without pain, everything it touched caught fire. Now I was watching the house go up, drawing more of them to the blessed inferno.
Burn, fuckers, burn.
All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2014 Julianne Snow
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