Thursday August 24th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the arsonist.

First day back went well. No major issues (or minor, actually) and I didn't have too much trouble getting back into the rhythm of the job.

Feeling very sleepy right now though, so I best get to it.

Mine:

No. I don't do that anymore. That's not me. I'm a good boy.

I don't play with matches now. They are not toys. I know better. The nice men taught me that. No more tiny little fire sticks for me.

Gasoline? Stinky stuff. Gets everywhere. All sloshy and spilly. Bad news. Bad, bad news. Leave it alone.

The nice lady at the store won't sell me fireworks anymore. We have an understanding. It's so dry out there in the woods. Hasn't rained in so long. Bad idea.

I'm a good boy, can't you see? No more fires for me. I... what? No, you're wrong. Maybe you're crazy? I don't know. Don't look at me like that. That's not nice. Point those mean eyes at somebody else.

Nuh uh. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't smell no smoke.