"Fire"

Night surrounded the local bank, an eerie silence accompanying the darkness. The employees had all gone home hours before, leaving the premises empty, save a single intruder. Kenneth stealthily moved towards the bank with a dead look in his eyes, stubble surrounding his face, a heart pounding like a man running for his life, and a bottle in his hand.

            Ken looked at the Molotov cocktail, his hand trembling nervously. With a single finger, he lightly caressed the cloth that served as the explosive’s fuse. He prayed the liquor would be strong enough. It was of a very high proof, but even still he was uncertain. Perhaps he should have opted for gasoline, he thought. But that would be hard for him to come by. He’s never had much of a reason to buy gasoline…

            “Rejected?” Ken repeated, his voice tinged with anxiety.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Flint,” said the loan officer, looking over her thick spectacles. “But given your current rate of income, it seems unlikely you’d be able to make the repayments. Have you…” she took a deep breath before continuing. “Have you considered maybe…settling for a less expensive car?”

            “I’ve looked everywhere. This is as cheap as it gets. Any car that costs less won’t move. Am I really…am I really not good enough to get this one?” Ken’s grip around his legs tightened.

            “Well, perhaps you could save up for it. If you set up a savings account here, you could…”

            “I’ve been saving!” Ken shouted indignantly. “You know how much other stuff I’ve got to pay for too? I’m 25 years old and I still can’t drive. It’s degrading, you know, needing the bus to go anywhere.”

            “I’m sorry,” replied the clerk, faux sympathy radiating from her voice. “But the fact stands that the bank has declined your loan application.” Slowly, Ken rose from his seat and awkwardly shuffled towards the door. Save for a car, save for a house, save up to go back to college so he can get a bigger job and make more money to save. He couldn’t take thinking about all of this anymore. He needed a smoke. As soon as he was far away from the bank, he reached for one of the cigarettes in his pocket. Ken pulled out his lighter.

            Ken pulled out his lighter. After a few flicks, he managed to summon a flame. The fire was comforting to him. There was something calming about the sight of a bright light juxtaposed against all the darkness that surrounded him. He would be even happier soon. Soon he would create.

            “You won’t get away with this, you know,” Ken thought to himself, just before he could light the fuse. It was true, he quickly realized. The bank’s security system must have been able to detect an intruder on the premises. The police were probably on their way at this very moment. Ken shook his head and lit the fuse. It didn’t matter, he decided. By the time they arrived, the deed would already be done. Besides, what could they do to him? Prison? Ken had no freedom for them to take away. He should be so lucky to have a guaranteed roof over his head, to lose his insecurity, his fear.

            Emma Flint kept her eyes on the road, only occasionally turning to look at her brother in the adjacent seat. The car ride had been long and silent. Though both of them had so much to say, they feared the other’s response too much. Soon, the car pulled over at a large supermarket.

            “Thanks for the ride,” Ken said weakly as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

            “You’re sure this place is good for you?” Emma asked.

            “Well, they did call me over for an interview,” Ken answered. “So I guess that’s a good sign.” He began to open the door only to freeze as his sister spoke again.

            “That’s not what I mean, Ken,” she added. “It’s just…don’t you think you might be a little too old to be bagging groceries at this point?”

            “Look, it’s just a temporary measure, OK? I’ll only be here until people start buying my paintings, and then...” Hearing this, Emma slammed both of her hands against the steering wheel.

            “I thought we went over this,” she said, trying her hardest to stay composed. “I thought you agreed to start looking at an actual career. Look, I didn’t want to be so blunt about this, but now I think I have to. People…” She took a deep breath. “People aren’t going to buy your paintings. That’s just how it is.”

            “But my paintings are good.”

            “I know you think they’re good,” Emma said with exasperation. “But…but people just don’t want to buy them. It’s great that you’ve worked so hard following your dreams, but some dreams just don’t come true. Sometimes everything you think is important just goes up in flames. You could become, I don’t know…an accountant. There’s a lot of money in that.

            “That doesn’t interest me.”

            “Well you’d better get interested in something with a salary soon, because I don’t want to be stuck taking care of you my whole life, and I don’t think you want that either.” Ken looked down at his feet, unwilling to respond.

            “No, wait, hey…I didn’t mean it like that,” Emma said, placing a hand on Ken’s shoulder. “It’s just…try to look at things from my perspective, will you? I do everything for you. I even paid for your art supplies, remember?” Ken nodded quietly. “You don’t know what it’s like, working to support two.” Emma sighed. “I’m getting married. Soon it’ll be three. Eventually even…more than three. I think you deserve better. I think you should be able to support yourself.” Silently, Ken opened the car door and stepped outside.

            “You know I’m not trying to be mean, don’t you?” Emma asked.

            “Yeah, I know,” said Ken, refusing to elaborate any further.

            “Just…really think about what I said, because it is important. Good luck on your interview.” Emma’s car drove away, leaving Ken to walk through the supermarket’s large, windowed entrance.

            Ken wondered if the bottle would break through the window, or simply shatter on impact. It didn’t matter, he supposed. He would get what he wanted either way. The flame gradually began to eat at the fuse, and Ken felt relieved knowing that in mere seconds all would be right with the world. He wished the bank wasn’t empty, though. If only it was daylight. If only he could hurt the machines that had strived so hard to hurt him. He imagined the wicked things screaming as they perished in the flames, and he gave a hefty sigh of relief.

            “Oh, shit,” Ken exclaimed, noticing the Molotov was still in his hands. There wasn’t much time left. Carefully, he pointed the explosive towards the bank’s doors, and threw it. The projectile flew through the air, moving as fast as it possibly could…

            Another passerby walked away, moving as fast as he possibly could. Ken didn’t think he was being too aggressive that time. Maybe there was someone else at the art show he was in a hurry to see instead?

            “Paintings for sale!” Ken shouted once more to the crowd that surrounded him. “Local art! Beautiful landscapes! Low prices! Paintings for sale!” Sitting at his table was a row of landscape paintings. Although they carried the clear lack of refinement that could only be achieved by an amateur, there was a strange elegance to them, or at least Ken liked to believe so.

            “Maybe they don’t like landscapes,” he thought. “Maybe they want pictures of people.” He wished he could capture the beauty of humanity, but try as he might they would never come out as something he could be proud of. He just had to stick to his detached, static landscapes and hope they were good enough for the masses.

            “Excuse me!” Ken called out to another passerby. The stranger nervously turned his head to face the booth.

            “Yes?” the man asked, adjusting his tie as a force of habit.

            “Would you be interested in one of these paintings? I’m especially proud of this one,” Ken said, gesturing at a nearby picture of a forest. “You know those trees on the outskirts of town? I went out there just before the sun rose, and…”

            “That’s very nice,” the passerby interrupted. “But I’m going to be late for work.”

            “You don’t want to buy a painting?” Ken asked quietly. The businessman stared at him for a second, struggling for a civil response.

            “…No,” he eventually answered before running off. Ken’s head sunk, looking at all the pictures surrounding him. His mind wandered to the work he had poured into every single one of them. They were like children to him, each one indescribably precious. He was sure everyone else would love them as much as he did.

            Were they not good enough? He could try again, make a new painting, one that’s even better. That would work. Ken shook his head in frustration. No it wouldn’t, he told himself. Ken rose from his seat and slowly packed up all his paintings, hanging his head in shame the whole time.

            “Maybe everyone was right,” Ken thought as he walked home, carrying a box filled with his artwork in both hands. Maybe the world had no need for another artist. Perhaps it was time to look into a real career, to give up on…

            Slowly, Ken placed his box on the ground, his face grimacing. He was too overcome by his own thoughts to muster the strength to walk another step. It wasn’t right, he told himself. He had worked so hard to become an artist. These paintings were good! He was sure of it! Why should he suffer? Why should he let his dream die? Ken looked at the box on the ground and tears began to form around his eyes.

            It was all for nothing, he told himself. Those paintings might as well burn.

            The bottle shattered, releasing a rampaging wave of flames in all directions. Ken stepped back, watching as the evil things burned. As the inferno danced across his eyes, he laughed to himself. Sirens could be heard in the distance, but it didn’t matter anymore. They would see his art now. It was his best creation. Where there once stood soulless obstruction, there was now natural beauty, cleansing the land as it twisted and turning it into something wonderful. Amidst all the darkness, there was now light.

            Ken looked at the light, and he saw that it was good.