100 Word Challenge #43
Prompt: …the flame flickered before…
It was the only thing that he truly understood. Something that he had created, that he had brought to life from phosphorous, wax and string. There was a purity and a truth to it.
That’s what he’d say, anyway. To the psychologists.
He’d talk about a need for control. A need to purge, a need to cleanse. He’d tell them about a youth fractured by neglect. And they’d believe him, of course.
The flame flickered before igniting the curtain, and as the tongues of fire lapped upwards his eyes gleamed.
Truth was, he just liked to watch things burn.