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Penance

The scene unfolded around him in slow-motion. A match spiraled towards the ground, the flame holding on ever so slightly, until it met the carpet below, drenched in gasoline, alcohol, anything he could find.

He saw the fumes ignite, beautiful waves of flame stretching out from ground-zero. They covered the floor, the photographs, the leather straps, steel chains, masks and ropes. They consumed the curtains and the wood siding, the chairs and the bed. They devoured the mattress and its stains, blood and piss and sweat.

And the tears. They made the tears go away.

He sat, penitent, as the flames erased his sins, consumed his soul in their cleansing inferno. He felt their heat lick his skin, tongues of judgment and release.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. They were just children, he told himself. They didn’t deserve the pain he’d given them. He would pay for his transgressions.

His lungs filled with smoke and ash. His body boiled. And he smiled.

Now we’re even, he thought. I’ve paid my dues.

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