The Arsonist

I stood by the window watching. I saw, through the darkness, the match be lit. I felt the tenth of a second before the hay lit. It felt like an eternity. The screams ran up with the flames surrounding the house. He looked me directly in the eye through the glass.

I’d seen him before, leaving the square. He was averting his eyes from the girls who danced about the dry fountain, which had been overgrown with weeds for decades. Shoving his way out of the dense crowd, he spat at the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets. His clothes were average, but dirty, his face shadowed by stubble, though his square jaw shone through.  I watched him, silently, through the open door of the yarn shop.

This however, would not be the last time I saw him.

The crowd at the market was thin, as only the last pickings were left. Prices would drop today before sky rocketing the next when fresh goods would be brought in.  He caught my eye immediately. The same clothes and dark scruff stood out among the aristocrats and those bound to them. Our eyes locked, my heart leaped.  The market went silent. The yelling of grocers and shouts of cheap shoppers were cut off. Time seemed infinite.

In hindsight, it was the eyes that I fell in love with. They were the color of pine trees flecked with pure and golden sunlight. They read me like a book. Opening me up and delving into each word and page. I wanted to tell them all my troubles, heartaches and loves. But, I held my tongue and broke the glance. I turned my back but felt the warm piercing stare, which followed me, even when I knew I was no longer in his sight. In the weeks that followed I felt the reaches of that stare. My monotonous days bred time for him to appear in my thoughts, though he didn’t appear outside of them.

The charge was high treason, a crime against the state. The penalty, death.  He pleaded and bartered. He grabbed the guard by the collar but was knocked to the ground, his mouth bleeding. He jumped up, desperate to save his brother, but fell again, dizzied by the blow to his head. I watched him watching the executioner. A black hood which read the charges. He saw what I did not, but we both heard the fall, the snap, the burning silence.

It was shattered by a heart broken sob. He had pulled the body close to him and curled himself around it. Tears wet his face as he bargained with God, with the devil, with anyone. The square began to clear but I stayed like a tree, rooted to the cobblestones, watching him. My hair came undone and threw itself about my face. He looked up and saw me. Those green eyes, burrowed into me yet again. Gently, I took a step my feet felt like lead weights, but I didn’t stop. I sat next to him, putting my arm about his shoulders. The sun had set and darkness had taken over. It briefly passed my mind that I had been expected home hours ago.  

His brother had the same square jaw, and a lighter version of his mussed hair, but the eyes were grey. I looked at the pale, emotionless face sadly. Who had he been in life? A late carriage rode by. The sound stirred us both slightly. The dark of the night began to break ever so slightly. Soon the body would be carried away to be buried in an unmarked grave.
 I reached out to touch his brother’s face. A final goodbye to a man I never knew. Before I could, I was stopped. I followed the line of the hand that had grabbed mine. My eyes traced the bend of shoulder and the soft curve of the neck. I locked my gaze at the eyes, which, even in the dark of the night, shone that dark, lively green. He put my hand on his face, the coarse stubble grazing my palm. We said nothing, we didn’t have to.

We sat close, feeling each other’s breath on our faces. Our noses touched. All at once his lips were on mine. His emotion poured into the kiss like a flood. It was harsh and sad. When he let up I saw that his eyes were wet again. I took his hand and let him cry. The sun was starting to rise. I pressed my lips softly against his as I stood up and walked back home.
He called for me the next day. I ran to his arms, an embrace I had longed for. I searched for the warmth of his gaze, but something had changed. I couldn't quite place my finger on it. He told me about the life of his brother and how close they had been. I wanted to spend every second of my time tucked under his arm, and yet, in the pit of my stomach I knew something wasn't right.
 
We walked the entire day. Talking, listening, saying nothing. At the end of they day he kissed my forehead before leaving. I smiled and my heart ached. Everything was so perfect. It would be some time before I understood. The bond between him and his brother was what caused him to change. When it was severed by the cool scissors of death, so was he.
 
He became darker and darker the more I saw him. His heart split between love and vengeance. He began drinking, and pushing me away to make room for revenge. He stopped calling for me.
I went numb. My smiles were few and far between. I could only think of him. I'd see him on my way back from the yarn shop, drunk with a new girl each week. My heart broke further.
 
He became a bit of petty gossip I heard from people who I recognized as friends I once had. They defined him as a destroyer of society; a menace. He got into brawls with the aristocracy, blaming them for his loss. He became a torrent of anger. Fights broke out, I knew full well he was in the center of each one. I wished desperately that he’d come back to me; to ask for my forgiveness, which I’d give, to ask me for help. He didn’t. I couldn’t get myself to let go of him. Those green eyes made a print on my heart the first time I looked into them at the market.
 
I lay in bed, weeks later. It was late, but I couldn’t sleep. He was on my mind. I got up and stood by the window, thinking of our first day together. I wanted nothing but that moment back. Then, there he was. My sad heart leaped, and I realized his purpose.
 
The match fell in slow motion, the flames licked the windows. His eyes met mine. They pleaded with me, his cry for help. I didn’t have time to think, I flew down the stairs. The same angry passion met my lips. The wind whipped my face as we ran. Nothing mattered. We were free.