MicroHorror

The fire licks and pops, spreading to every inch of the living room. The shag carpet glows a ferocious orange, pulsating its intense consuming heat. The smoke curls in a thick black plume as it hits the ceiling.

“Please! You don’t have to do this!” He screams, heaving with each breath. He struggles in vain against the duct tape taut around his chest.

The cut above his nose flows freely, dripping a thin red line down his cheek.

“Whatever you want, anything! Whatever you… just take it! Please! Let me go!”

Flames creep up the walls in a slow death march. The consumption is audible as the house groans in agony, slowly falling into itself.

“I don’t understand! Why are you doing this? I’ve told you a thousand times, Charlie, it wasn’t me!” He cries, desperation clinging to each word.

I light a cigarette and drag deep. I bend down and blow the smoke into his gaunt bruised face.

“Sorry, David, but I’ve got to run. No hard feelings, okay?” I smile, patting his cheek.

“No! No! Don’t go! Charlie! Please! Oh my god, please!”

His voice fades into a distant moan as I walk out the sliding door and into the street. The night is a stinging cold. The snow is just starting to stick to the cars, forming soft white pillows on their roofs.

The house is aglow, the flames shattering the windows and bursting out into the night.

The snow crunches under my feet as I walk away.