It started with cockroaches and matches. No, it really started much earlier than that. It started with the ants and a magnifying glass. The sizzle, crackle and then a pop (almost like rice crispies) and then the sweet smell of burnt chitin. Cockroaches were more fun since they were larger and they had wings.

I still remember the day I found a stray kitten. I must have been about 10. It mewled so helplessly. The sounds it made when I set it on fire was like music to my ears. And the smell of burnt hair at first, then of flesh and finally of bone was just heavenly, enough to give me a ravenous appetite.

I progressed via dogs to street children. Nobody misses them. I promise them food, and once in my grasp, I take them to the chamber and tie them up. I build a pyre around their feet. They will beg and plead, but their screams will always be silenced as the air gets sucked out of their lungs.

Afterwards, when I order my steak rare, I replay the scene in my head. It makes the meat and wine taste so much better.