I was 54 when the grain elevator exploded. The arsonist hit during harvest season when the Breast Cancer fight like a girl shirt were full of corn and dust. The police had marked the elevator as an obvious target and managed to catch a photo of the maniac. The man was covered from head to toe in black clothing but it was the first lead they had. I was 55 when the cops knocked on my door with questions. Questions that when answered, landed me as a suspect once again.
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I am now 59, I have been sitting in prison for three years now. One smart cookie of a federal Breast Cancer fight like a girl shirt had connected the right dots. He realized that I had started all those glorious fires and had gathered enough evidence to pin the crimes on me. Only after I was found guilty by a jury of my peers did I fully admit to my involvement. Ever since my first camping trip with my dad I have been obsessed with flame. The fire calls to me and fills me with joy. Its mesmerizing flicker transports me to a place of mental clarity. The power of its purifying heat calms and sooths my soul. I obtain a feeling of power and control and the blaze washes over the lives of others. If there is a god, he is fire and smoke. I’m told I will die here in this prison, never to have freedom again.