.this. .is. .the. .symphony.

Every one around me was laughing and smiling at each other, excited at their soon felony. I didn't really go because of the 'peer-pressure' authority figures warn us about when they think we're getting too strong, and thinking for ourselves. They like to tell us that we don't really want what we want, and people want stuff for us, so we think we want it. Hypocrites.



We were the kids that did all of the graffiti and stuff that little six year olds would point at when the passed by and say 'pretty'. Then their mothers would hush them with an angry stare, thinking No, not my daughter. She'll never be trash like that. Glancing at our laughing figures, with wild hair, clashing colors, ripped clothes, leaning against our graffiti proudly, smoking.


We'd never done that, and I was almost sure that I would be physically sick to my stomach with excitement. I remember only three years before when I was thirteen. I had told my best friend during science as we lit a burner, "If I were any kind of criminal. Well. I'd be an arsonist." She stared at me in numb, angry astonishment. We were the two goody-goody's. If anything, I should have said, "I hate arsonists."

We stopped being friends after a while.

A lime-green-headed figure tossed me a red jug of what I could only figure was gasoline. He laughed, and gestured me on, as the group of us ran up a grassy hill to a house with no windows, and the porch was falling off.

A nervous boy, who was probably fourteen, a freshman, that I had never seen hang out with us before said, "No one lives here, so it's probably alright, right?" he said it to me.

I smiled as warmly as I could.

"Yeah. And trust me. We won't get caught. We're good at stuff like this." I elbowed him in a friendly way.


But only because I needed to be a little angsty or the entire experience would be sick.

Just setting a house on fire because you can?


So you add some sort of depressing life experience to it so we don't get locked up. Guilty consciences are always the ones getting locked away. Then they come out soft, not harder, stronger, angrier.

So there's us. To not get caught and grow angrier every time.

I suppose that's sick too.

"Hey baby." A blonde ditz, who only hung out with us because she was trashy, and slept around, and the guys we hung out with were all easy. In the guy way. She wrapped her arm around the freshman who blushed. "Won't this be fun?"

"Yeah." he said, bringing his cigarette to his mouth, to make him look manly, I suppose, crashing and burning as he choked on it. When he collected himself, he gestured to me. I was still paying attention, but staring elsewhere. I did that a lot. "I was just telling her that we won't get caught. She was a bit jumpy."

I rolled my eyes, and nodded solemnly.

"C'mon, you guys ready?" the leader, and always the leader. My best friend. The guy who knew everything about me. I walked up next to him, and he put his arm around my shoulder comfortably and looked back at all of our friends, equipped with stuff they didn't need. Me and him both knew. All we needed was the gas in my hands, and the matches in his. He smiled at me, high on the moment, and raised his eyebrows. I stepped out of his arms, and pour the gasoline all around the crumbled foundation of the house.

Laughing, I walked around the small house, pouring gasoline all around the sides.

I walked up to my best friend and said into his ear, "I'm going to make sure that no one's inside. Arson I can deal with, murder, not so much."

I walked in through the porch, and felt harder and more excited about it. The house was small, with no trace of it's occupants. I don't think it had any. I walked through a living area when I heard a fire and a shouted, "Dumb ass!"

It all happened very slowly then.

The house was quickly catching flame, and I was in the very back, away from all exits.

I heard my name being screamed. He was in the house, too, looking for me.

"I'm here. I'm right here." I called, running to his voice. Our eyes were wide and worried.

And the house was burning.

He grabbed my hand and we saw that the entrance and exit was blocked with fire.

And the house was burning.

"We have to run through there." He whispered in synch with my realizing.

But the house was burning.

"Okay. Only if we both go at the same time." I said.

And I couldn't see the flame anymore, just the door, ready to be run through.

"Three, two, one... now." he said calmly, not waiting for me to run, grabbing my bare arms with his considerably big hands and lifting me like I knew he could, and running.

White-hot is a strange expression. The first thing I thought was 'ouch, hot'. I think that phrase was much more suitable.

I shrieked, and he shouted, the perfect symphony for a movie without a soundtrack.

A group of five stood, shocked, mirror image faces. The ditz and freshman were running down the hill, and we were rolling on the ground like authority told us to 'in case of a fire'.

And the house was burning.

We watched from the ground as the house burned to the ground. It took all night.

The group left.

And under the cool smokey grey, he kissed me on the mouth, like I knew was coming, and I kissed him back.

Misspelled though, kidded him back.

We were just a joke.