For the Joy
by Shannon Lee Martin
Copyright 2012 Shannon Lee Martin
Any similarities between persons, places or things, living, dead, or otherwise, is what it is.
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“The first person I burned alive deserved it. I don’t know what to tell you about the rest. No good reason, really. It was like something sparked (Ha!) inside me the first time, like life was suddenly something completely different than anything I had ever known before. Perhaps it was all the rage I felt for what I found that bastard doing to my son, who knows? But you asked me did I like it, and I avoid the answer. Not intentionally.
“You wanna know how it made me feel to bind someone to a log buried in the dirt, pile straw around them, and douse man and grass in gasoline? You wanna know how I felt when they screamed that their eyes were burning from the gasoline, when they screamed even more as I lit the match that lit the piece of cardboard or whatever I had handy? I tell you, those screams were nothing compared to when a man or woman screams when their hair catches afire, when their skin melts and crackles and chars black and peels away from their bones. . . How did it make me feel?
“I didn’t like it. In fact, I didn’t care for it at all; I fucking loved it! And I’ll love it again, because you can’t keep me here, and you fucking know you can't. You've heard the rumors, and disbelieved every last one of them.