Flaming Hot

Cheryl was mad, madder than a house set on fire. But she didn't know what more to do, because she'd already set the house on fire.

She stood outside, watching the first tendrils of smoke curl out from under the edges of the roof above the kitchen window. Why do people think only of themselves? Don't they know how much they hurt those who love them?

She knew she should call the fire department. Soon. But she wanted to watch a little longer. The blinds on her bedroom window were still closed. She wondered if they smelled the smoke yet, if they smelled anything at all over the scents of sin and sweat. Probably not. She hoped not.

She dialed emergency services, reported the fire in her home, told them she just came back from work and saw smoke, that no one was inside.

No one was supposed to be inside. He was supposed to be at work, just like Cheryl was. But business had been slow, and she felt lonely at the office, so full of uninteresting tasks and people. She'd come home to surprise her husband with dinner, only to find he was already eating. Why don’t people think of more than just the moment? Do they think they won’t get caught?

So she set fire to her house with them inside. As she waited, listening to the faint beginnings of the roar of a fire, for the sirens to draw near, for the panicked naked figures to run out of the house, she felt her anger begin to slip away. She felt nice. She always sacrificed for him, even now. She was ruining her house so that he could be with someone hotter than her.