A descriptive piece from year 10, inspired by the meme above for some reason...

Smoke spills from the house, blossoming into whirlwind clouds as it stretches upward, desperate to taste the sleepy bitterness of the night sky. As darkness snakes between the streetlights, the road is painted a new shade of black. It is an ominous, ochre tone that reflects in my eyes like a storm, illuminated only by the melted gold light of the firefly sparks that dance in front of me. Lazily, they flutter around the house and settle carefully into the eyelashes of a hidden shadow.

Barely visible to the disaster, a smudgy red hand rests in the brush. Attached to it is a girl. Her passive face is scorched and unrecognisable, resembling a slab of meat on a butcher's table, as it smoulders in the soil. She is no longer human: she is just a dead thing devoured by the fire, a tormented corpse whose only comfort is the warm embrace of the smoke.

The mournful wail of a siren forces my attention away from the pitiful body. As limber fingers of heat caress the nearby houses, the distant noise informs me it's too late. The building, now stripped of any sense of home or belonging, can cope with... what? Four more minutes at best? No. Less than that. It will fold into the floor like crumpled paper, wilt like a dying plant. It's dry leaves of memory will gently detatch themselves and float away on a sombre wind.

Yes, soon it will all be nothing: an awkward hole in the street, a silence that curls around the emptiness like a choking handshake, a shattered mirage of happiness. As I watch the splintering roof collapse into a sad pile of scorched wood and blackened tiles, a sick smile is etched into my face. I am utterly relaxed. The disaster I have created has stirred in me a sadistic euphoria that I can't seem to shake. My hair is whipped into cobwebs around my head and my bare feet are buried under a blanket of rubble. I wiggle my toes. I giggle.

As the wind whistles a foreboding tune, I turn on my heel and glide into the night.