I, your Favorite Author™,  wrote this in the car when I was waiting for somethings to arrive at my doorstep. I am really proud of myself for this story and I think it should get more recognition, as it is one of my better works, but whatever y’all. Here’s the story.

Life doesn’t always make sense. Like why my shoes have to be so irritatingly bright and reflective. Or why all of my friends have bad self-loathing. Or why my mother can’t keep a job.

But none of those things matter because this story isn’t about me or my friends or my mom. It’s about you. And the night of the fire that changed everyone’s opinion of you.

You. The most liked, smartest, nicest person in the entire town. Or so it seemed

And as a result, no one saw this coming.


I suppose that everyone has their coping mechanisms and assuming that you were perfect made us inconsiderate asshats, but perfection has always been a something special among us common folk. It’s been a weakness, a desirable trait, a thing that everyone wants, something that separates the average from whatever lies above.

Then again, who would’ve guessed something so dangerous as your vice.

Even right now, even in my knowledge, this seems impossible.

No one even cared at first.

All it meant was that you liked to watch things be consumed in the insatiable hunger of flames.

Pictures, toys, clothes, even yourself sometimes. Anything you could find that would catch the light.

But it’s whatever.

It is what it is right?

You were safe from the public eye, the merciless hand of the media.

Until that fire house on main street burned down. And everyone inside went down with it

Oh, just how ironic does it get?

You were the main suspect, even without any incriminating evidence.

But the world turned to look at you.

Everyone in the town refused to talk with you and the news spread like, well… Wildfire.

Every single media outlet basically broke their back trying to cover this story. They were all over this case, with no rhyme or reason to the chaos.

The public was in a frenzy fighting both for and against you, before you could even receive a summons.

And when you did go to court, that’s when shit really hit the fan.

“Look at that boy, how could he commit such a crime? Such things just don’t add up.”

“That man is undoubtedly guilty. Just look at him. A quick look at that face and anyone can he tell he was a delinquent through and through.”

Worse things were happening everywhere else. Things much more important then 15 volunteer firemen dying in a mysterious fire. But everyone just had to know. We all needed to find out the truth.

Did you do it?


But I guess we’ll never get to know right? Since you’re dead and all.

Killed in a fire.

Accidental or Arson, the world may never know.

I suppose it’s just bad luck.


2 thoughts on “Stories?

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