The neighborhood was unnaturally quiet for a summer day. The first week of school had come to a close. Daniel sat in his backyard putting rocks together in a circle. It had been fifteen days since the last one and that was far too long. The hunger had become insatiable.

He fiddled with the match over the neat pile of dry leaves and sticks. He looked through the glass sliding door. His mother hovered over the sink with her headphones on calmly singing and washing dishes. It was almost too perfect.

“Goddammit!” his father shouted in vain. Sounds cluttered and echoed from the shed as he continued to shuffle, frustrated, looking for something he couldn’t find.

Almost too perfect he thought. Daniel thoroughly kicked the mound scattering sticks, rocks and dust around him. He slid the match into his back pocket. It would have to wait.

Daniel stared at the ceiling fan in his room. He traced the footsteps from the adjacent room. The door opened and closed. They thundered down the steps and out the door. He heard the black Civic door close and the engine start. His father was gone and would not return for the next two days. His father worked two day shifts at Ladder 37. When he returned he would be off for the next three days. Daniel waited for those two days. After school he would march through the front door head straight to his room. He would finish his homework in an hour or two. At this time most kids his age would go outside and play basketball or the latest videogame at each other’s house. But not Daniel. This was his special time, away from his parents, friends and the rest of the world. He would stuff a towel under his door. Keep his window opened with a fan pointed outside to maximize the ventilation. He had exactly two and a half hours to work. At six his mother would be home.

The process was three steps: the build, the burn and the sweep. The first was the most time consuming. He looked in his closet and pondered. What should it be this week. He stared at the green plastic tool box he kept in his closet. It had a lot of craft materials: threads, glue, scissors, Popsicle sticks etc. It was a tempting choice for next week but he was far too lazy today. He wanted something simple. He grabbed the silver folder on the rack above his hanging clothes. Origami. It was perfect; simple, yet just as intricate.

He grabbed three sheets of paper from the folder and opened up the instruction booklet. He knew what he wanted. Frogs. It took about ten minutes for each one. He labeled them, M, G and D. He placed them on the desk. He took out the SD card he kept behind a framed photo of himself and his parents they took last year on his 11th birthday. He placed it in his camera and snapped the photo. The build was complete.

He lit one of the long candles he kept in his room. His father hated having candles in the house but after convincing his mother of the therapeutic properties they became a permanent member of his room. They were the perfect excuse. If they ever smelled the smoke they would always write it off as the candles.

The tempo of his heart accelerated. Like a king knighting his subject, with utmost honor and respect, he lightly touched each one of the frogs with the candle. They slowly lit up. His nose instantly picked up the burning scent. The black carbon saturated smoke slowly drifted up. He watched the flames dance. They moved rhythmically back and forth like a woman shaking her hips in dance. Around the flame ashy black lines began to form and spread on the three little frogs like a metastasizing tumor. Their shape distorted as the molecular bonds holding everything together broke apart and dispersed. The three frogs were fully consumed. Daniel sat there mesmerized by its dance. With each diffusing breath of smoke his heart slowly found its normal pace. He watched the embers take their last burning breath. When the flames ceased his mind went completely blank. All the pent up tension of his routine life was released. At that moment he was no longer the model student, obedient son or reliable friend. He was simply himself.

The sweep was simple this time. The pieces were small, so there was hardly any ash to pick up. The smoky smell dispersed relatively quickly. With the help of Febreeze, by the time his mother returned there was no trace at all.

His dad returned home the following Wednesday. His mother began to set the table. They were having chicken parmesan, a rare meal in their household. Mother always tried to surprise him somehow each week he returned, usually in the form of dessert, occasionally a change in the home’s décor. It got to the point where it would be uncommon if nothing eventful happened on that day. When playing her role as the wife of a firefighter his mother always said “every weekday he returns is a blessing.” She always exaggerated a bit. On fire awareness they always mentioned how over a hundred firefighters die each year. When put into mathematical terms the number is relatively low. His father was a clever man. Daniel had the utmost confidence that if somehow his father lost his life on the job it would most likely be due to miscommunication within the team’s infrastructure.

“How was school?” father asked as he poured soda into his cup.

“Pretty boring. We had a math quiz today. I got 96.”

“Keep it up.”

“Did anything happen on your shift?” Daniel’s father never talked about his job. He made a habit of asking. Depending on his father’s mood he’d tell him. When he was younger his dad loved telling him tales of his job. All of them heroic, evacuating buildings before they collapsed, putting out burning buildings, reviving a woman from death. All of them had happy endings.

“Met this guy who had the worst day of his life. He parks his car in front of a restaurant, right. He gets out and goes take care of some business, he’s meeting someone or something. He’s gone for about a half hour. When he gets back his car is ruined. Turns out there was a problem with his fuel lines. While he was gone the front of his car, down to the tires, caught fire. We get a call from some workers at the restaurant and put it out. The worst part he’s only got liability, so the insurance won’t even cover it.”

“So what then?”

“He has to buy a new car, or take the bus.”

“That’s terrible!” his mother said.

At this point Daniel picked up his food and brought it to his room. Outside from those regular inquiries there was nothing else he had left to say. He aimlessly flipped through channels while he ate. While his physical hunger began to subside he could feel the other beginning to grow.

Eight days. It had been eight days since the last burn. The hunger felt like a festering mosquito bite. With the house empty, the moment was ripe. He grabbed the toolbox from his closet. It had been on his mind the whole day. It would be his greatest masterpiece. He had to stop at the store on his way from school to get the most important material: playing cards. He glued the edge of each card and laid them down in alternating colors. Each wall was four cards wide and five cards high. The rest put together the triangle roof.

It stood at almost two feet high. It covered most of the open space provided by the window. He hesitated for a moment. This was by far the largest build. If by some chance the flames got out of control it would put everything in jeopardy. The neighbors would see it. The repercussions from his parents would be a nightmare. He could see it now. They would sit him down. It’d start with talking. He wouldn’t give them what they want. The yelling would begin. In the end, no matter what, they would seek professional help. Could you imagine visiting a psychologist, drinking pills for the rest of your life to rewire your brain?

He snapped the photo and lit the candle. He carefully touched the top of the roof. He couldn’t let himself hesitate. He came this far, it would be a complete and utter waste to stop there. It was simple. He would just have to light the structure from the top. The flames would then slowly burn to the base. Once the flames burned a third of the way he would put the fire out with the extinguisher his dad kept next to the trash can in the kitchen. Everything would be under control.

It slowly spread until the entire roof was covered in bright orange flames. Daniel had never witnessed anything so frightening. The house collapsed. The entire desk was ablaze. He stood there, eyes wide and heart pounding. He saw a fire he never in his life witnessed before, the spontaneous fire which garnered the respect of all men. It was the fire that civilizations across the land once worshipped. The fire men like his father made their bread from. The fire men died and killed with. The fan empowered the two-foot flame. Its movement violent, the embers spread onto the curtains tied in the corner of the window. The smoke which once brought calm and peace to Daniel made him cough violently.

The flames shone like a beacon to the outside world. The neighborhood began to stir. Parents gathered outside, many of them holding cellphones. Some dialed the police. Others took photos. Some called friends. The neighborhood children pointed as Daniel emerged from the house.

“What happened?”

“Are you alright?”

“Is anyone else inside?”

His head down, not meeting any of their glaring eyes, he walked past them to the end of the block. He sat on the corner and watched. The flames fought their way out of the window and were attempting to climb onto the walls and the side of the house. He watched his greatest work proudly wave and salute to all who were willing to stare. The anxiety of being discovered seemed to disappear. The consequences, his future, uncertain. He was sure of one thing, the alternative left behind in that room was far worse.

Sirens echoed closer and closer.