#( twisted firestartah ..

@obsessicn​ sent:  well, if they don’t want me at my worst, then i’m gonna burn down this goddamn house!

She squints, her head tilting up while she mentally configures what exactly Laurie means. Sophia is perched on the barren kitchen’s countertop, her legs swinging back and forth like two pendulums in mismatched rhythm, heavy heels thumping against the doors. “So that means burning down this house is your... best?” she questions, pondering all the possibilities of what Laurie’s worst is. Sophia has seen the woman with blood on her hands, as she has with any woman here, but there was only so much they could do. Was setting fire to this place even an option at their disposal?             If she were home, she would have laughed at anyone presenting arsony as a solution to their frustration. She remembers boys in school getting suspended for setting toilet paper alight, she remembers slapping her friend’s fingers away from relentlessly poking at a burning candle’s wet pool of wax --- both examples of fire serving as a momentary fascination and nothing else. Then she remembers staring at the burning heather of the moors only miles from her house, waves of distant flames controlled and conditioned to cull bushels from growing too coarse. The fear of the fire maybe one day reaching her home, fulfilling its endless proven history of primal chaos, outweighed any hypnotic catharsis in witnessing a force that doesn’t discriminate against what -- or who -- it destroys.             But here, she finds herself wondering if she could find catharsis in destruction. If playing with fire was worth it for the flames alone.