Ficlets

Arsonist's Close Call

“What are you doing?” I asked, then realized what I had said and regretted it, immediately.
Wendy looked crushed, on the verge of tears instantaneously. She got up to leave.

“Wendy! I didn’t mean it like that! You startled me!” I yelled. But she took off down the alley.

“Hey! You! Stop!”
Ol’ Man Corbet came hobbling out of his back door, ran to the garden hose, and yelling, cursing, and screaming, “those pesky kids!”, sprayed water on the house.

White steam arose, the flames fought for air and life, but the Ol’ man kept on them until a black charred lump was left smoldering. He was wheezing, red-faced, and frowning. He scanned the brush where I sat stiffly. I hoped my black t-shirt would look like shadows, and I didn’t move a muscle.

He stared for what seemed like hours, right at me! Then he turned and put the hose away, and finally went inside. Still I waited, he was mad enough to continue watching from the windows.

When I was sure it was safe, I went home.

That was too close! I couldn’t trust Wendy.

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