Arson Read Online Free PDF

chicken. You’ll never be a hero if you’re always scared.”
    â€œI hate fire,” Arson whispered under the current. “I hate what I am.”
    Danny’s words played out in slow motion, spinning amidst chaos and the boom of future horror. “All you have to do is light this piece of junk and chuck it as far as your wimpy arm can throw. It’s going to be so cool! You’ll see.”
    Fear moved across their faces, and everything went still, waiting for the world, asking God to step in and save him from what he was about to do. But there was nothing, no one to change it. There it was in Danny’s palm before he handed it over. It was the key to her salvation. Perhaps clearer in reverse, clearer than even that night.
    It had moved to his hand now. Nothing would work. Nothing but the fire inside his bones. Frantic and nervous, Arson recalled the anger, the frustration pumping through him, the lack of control that lit his hand. In a blink, it danced across his fingers and disappeared. What seemed like fragments of time was enough to change his world forever. He gasped, and then he saw her face.
    Breathe.
    No. Not yet.
    Breathe .
    Arson cried, fighting to be still but knowing this pain was unquenchable. He had to breathe to let it out. In a choking rage, he extended his hands and feet and felt the waters boil. The creatures underneath him and all around him began to die, floating to the surface. He glowed and burned and hated every second of it.
    Arson waited for it to end. His senses fought to return to the surface, back to solid ground, the familiar. Swallowing the filth, he shook and swore, breaking to the surface wild and furious. Arson didn’t want to commit suicide; he just wanted to die.

 
    Chapter 6
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    ARSON WAS RELUCTANT TO walk into work the next morning. From the second he stepped in, his boss seemed bent on proving a point. The point was simple: time off without the proper notice was reason enough to fire him on the spot, but being the merciful boss that he was, he’d allow Arson to stay on. Punishment began with scrubbing the bathroom floors.
    His name was Ray, but nicknames like Murder Breath and Hitler were used frequently. The truth was, he acted as a better dictator than socialite; deep down, he was a terrible human being. His bald spot betrayed him on windy afternoons and on what  he  considered bad hair days. The awkward square glasses framed an unattractive face. Whiteheads soured his appearance, covering his pale-fleshed cheeks and nose. Large, chapped lips accentuated an already helpless mug. Not to mention, dandruff always littered his collar. What kept Arson and the other employees distant, however, was far worse than bad breath or a hideous composure. Ray smelled. He rarely, if ever, wore deodorant and didn’t believe in cologne. Nevertheless, Ray thought that he walked on air. Because his brother owned the ice cream parlor, he took it upon himself to be the world’s easiest person to despise. And he enjoyed it too.
    â€œI want the entire stockroom emptied and shelved,” Ray demanded after Arson put away the mop. The invisible, murderous mist of Ray’s breath invoked obedience. His boss glanced down at his clipboard, checking off the list Arson assumed was created during his back room hours, which, according to Chelsea, his co-worker, Ray spent cruising adult Web sites. “After that, I want you to mix another batch of Chocolate Crunch; we’re running low, and those mothers can turn into vampires when little Susie doesn’t get the flavor she wants.”
    â€œIs that all?” Arson said with an overwhelmed sigh.
    Ray grinned. “That’s nothing, kid. Get started on the boxes.” Ray handed him the razor. “Come see me when you’re done. I’ll be in the back.”
    â€œEnjoy the show,” Arson groaned while Ray started to walk away. Then he came back.
    â€œWhat was that? You have