He stood back as he watched the flames lick around the windows. They ate up the curtains and went to devouring the window panes. They danced along the porch railing. They twisted and fell, and rose again, hungrily reaching for more. Towards the roof, the sky, the heavens.
Little did he know at the time, it was to be the first of several arson charges.
Instead, it felt cleansing at the time in ways he didn't know how to describe. He was never a man of beauty, but standing there, watching the destruction caused by his hands, he felt something quite close to it.
He'd had to do it, burning all his furniture first in piles outside the trailer, watching them melt and burn down, the fumes filling his nostrils. He'd deeply inhale the noxious fumes mixed with the smell of burnt pine and pressed wood: melting plastic, varnish, polyester. Melting nearly like hot wax. He'd had to do it, there was no other option. And now he felt that was right. This was how things needed to be.
After the piles burnt down, it was the trailer that was left. And it quickly caught fire as well.
He vaguely remembered hearing something about how fast a trailer can burn to the ground. 10 minutes? 15? He drank in the minutes like strong, dark coffee. It even made him feel more alive, more awake, fulfilled.
All the seething anger he felt, all the constant noise in his head, the demanding voices, the incessant ringing, it all had subsided now. He had given in, done as the voices desired, and as they had said, it fixed everything.
He spread his arms wide in a gesture of triumph, leaned his head back and laughed manically.
Through his laugh could be heard the distant cry of sirens, growing louder, coming closer.
His voice rose higher, his laugh louder than any other noise.
He enjoyed his moment of happiness.