Wilde Fire

"Sometimes they say this should feel something like fire, 'till it burns you. And you know you can't remain the same."

It was four years ago that Ben went crazy. Technically, he had been crazy for a long time. The doctor said some screws were loose, that he had a few disorders that caused him to do too many stupid things too many times. He went a long time though, where we all thought everything was fine; he was nothing but a teenage boy with a knack for getting in trouble, and a strange passion for something more dangerous than anything else possible...

Fire.

Fire is what killed my brother. Fire is what he started, what he loved the most, as he lit those matches and purposely burned our house to the ground. Fire is what burned him from the inside out, scorching his body as he smiled the entire time. But fire isn't what ruined my life: he is.

Yet even now, four years later, as I stand in front of the crumpled remains of the home in which my pyromaniac of a brother set ablaze, I can't get myself to hate him. As I stick my hand into the pocket of my jeans, feeling for that small piece of paper, the last words, the last and final remains of my brother, I can't even blame him for what has happened; for what he did to me and my life.

Fire may have killed Ben. But in the end, fire is going to be the only thing keeping me alive.

A pile of ashes is much better than a deadbeat for a son.
Much better than a crazy exboyfriend, or a pyscho for a brother.
A pile of ashes, in simple words, is much better than me...
At least my fire burns brighter.

I’m sorry for hurting any of you. I'm sorry for everything.

Just remember I will always love you, Sidney Bean.

Goodbye forever,
Benjamin J. Wilde