Extract from "Candles for Kathy"
In this scene, Luke is explaining to flatmate Jack why he lights a candle every night before going to sleep.

Luke: One night I struck a match in the dark. And I just watched it burn. I held it in my hand and I watched it burn. It didn't take very long; well, it wouldn't, would it? It was just one match. But I watched it right to the end, until it burnt my fingertips. Taking in the sight, and the smell the soft, hissing sound it made, like radio static I closed my eyes afterwards, and all I could see was a red blur: like it had done more than just singe my fingers, like it had somehow burnt through me a little. And I liked it. I don't know it made me feel special. It sounds stupid. It was stupid. But it wasn't enough. I wanted more I lit a candle, I watched it for hours the flickering quality, the raw energy of it - I can't really explain the pull it had over me. There was something primal about it; it felt like I'd truly discovered fire for the first time, realised that it was a force I couldn't understand something elemental but completely beyond me. But I still wanted more. I started lighting fires just little ones, at first, but they got bigger. It became an addiction I started living for the next time I'd be able to sweat, and breathe smoke; watch the heat turn everything hazy, indistinct like it didn't matter any more. But it was okay I could control it. It was like giving birth to a monster, but keeping it on a lead; I was always very careful to contain it. I'd have a bucket of water with me, just in case. It was always planned, always safe And then this one night, in the summer I had a fight with my mum something minor, probably; I can't even remember now. I went out, just walking, trying to clear my head I wasn't paying much attention to where I was going. And when I looked up, I was in the woods. Well, it seemed perfect: a great way to let off some steam, you know? I didn't have any water with me, but it didn't matter, I could just make a small one. I could feel the lighter in my pocket: warm like a magnet, like it knew what I was thinking and couldn't wait to play its part I made a small pile of leaves and wood; it caught quicker than I'd expected. I remember the first rush of heat when you feel like it's going to melt your eyeballs I could taste the ash on the air: bitter, acrid burnt. And suddenly it was bigger than I'd planned, much bigger, and I started looking around for the bucket, but of course it wasn't there, and it was too much. I panicked. I ran. I ran home, and washed the smell off my clothes, and tried to sleep. But I couldn't I could still hear the roar in my ears I didn't sleep at all that night. Anyway, it was a couple of days later, and I was starting to think how close it had been making mental notes to not be so rash in the future, to be safer, keep things small and there was this news report on the TV; it said that a girl had gone hiking in the local woods and been burnt to death in a forest fire. Her name was Kathy; she'd just finished her second year of university; she'd wanted to be a doctor. There was a big funeral police investigation but they never determined the cause of the fire. And I never told them I've never told anyone. So, every night, to try and ease my guilt, I light a candle for Kathy for the girl I killed. For two reasons: one, so that she'll know I'm sorry; and two, to remind myself of the fate that awaits me Do you believe in hell, Jack? I wish I didn't. But I've seen it I've already seen my afterlife because I'm going back to the woods: back to the fire that I started. And this time, I'll be the one who burns. And you know what? I'll deserve it.

Learn more about this author, Joel Arnold.
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