PROMPT 004: A story from the perspective of a serial arsonist

Jonah absently flicked the spark wheel of the Bic lighter, spinning it with his fingernail without pushing down the valve to produce a flame. An arsonist’s version of a fidget spinner, even though he had one of those, too, in his side pocket.

He preferred the cheap gas station Bic lighters. They were affordable, reliable, and if he needed to, he could keep the flame on constantly with a zip tie. His favorite color was yellow, but this one was purple. He never bought the same color two times in a row.

The abandoned warehouse loomed over his head like a giant. He couldn’t wait to take it down.

For nearly 20 minutes, he sat in an alley and listened, blocking out the roar of the distant highway, inescapable in the city, and focusing on any sound that could be made, or triggered, by a human: footsteps, an alarmed bird, car tires crunching on nearby pavement.

Waited and waited, until he could hear his own heartbeat, then a little longer.

Jonah knew the building was bereft of life. He had completed a thorough walk-through last week, peeking in every room for signs of homeless encampments. They were there, but they were old, not used for years. The last thing he wanted was to torch some poor slob just looking for a place to stay dry. It was adjacent to another abandoned structure, an old bottling plant, and a small auto parts factory that, somehow, managed to stay open. The factory was separated by a wide driveway, and also made of brick. And just to be safe, Jonah looked at the company’s website, performed some light hacking of their employee scheduling system, and discovered the place was vacant on Sundays except for a security guard whose cubicle was on the opposite side of the building.

The neighborhood must have been bustling with energy 30 years ago, Jonah thought, when the auto parts manufacturer, the bottling plant, a diner across the street, and Jonah’s building, the old furniture warehouse he’d been scouting for weeks, were all up and running. He could almost picture it, and his heart hurt just a little for all the men and women who carried memories of the old place.

But the building had to burn. Jonah would not be able to rest until he saw it engulfed, until he heard the approaching sirens as he sprinted away in the dusk.

He didn’t want to set the building on fire. He had to.

Once he was sure no one was around, Jonah stepped out of the alley and headed straight for the busted side door by the old loading dock. He made sure not to look from side to side, keeping his gaze forward, hands shoved in his pockets, moving fast but not too fast. He didn’t want to draw attention from the neighboring security guard or a looky-loo from one of the high rises visible in the middle distance.

Jonah didn’t carry any gasoline or extra tinder for this job. Almost everything was flammable inside. All he needed was the gas station lighter.

The door creaked open just enough to allow Jonah inside, and he propped it in place with an old chair to give him a clear exit.

In the middle of the room was a stack of old mattresses, some still wrapped in plastic. Jonah had piled them up two nights before, a headlamp strapped to his forehead. They would burn nicely, and for a long time. That’s what Jonah was counting on: the flames would climb high and fast and the pile would burn long enough to ignite the ceiling overhead, the second-story wooden floor above that, and soon the whole building. If it all went right, the interior would be fully engulfed before a single flame peeked through to the atmosphere outside.

He took one final minute to listen. The coast was clear. Jonah took one last deep breath and sparked the lighter, the tiny flame burning bright and yellow, and quickly applied the zip tie. Then he touched the fire to a mattress tag, and watched as the words UNDER PENALTY OF LAW THIS TAG NOT TO BE REMOVED EXCEPT BY THE CONSUMER darken and disappear.

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