Its not normal to want to run INTO a burning house, but I'm not a normal person. I'm standing here in handcuffs watching them burn my house to the ground, wanting nothing more than to run in and be burned down with it.
4 Hours Previous:
Mailboxes are so stupid. Who sends mail anymore? And yet, some people do, so here I am, going to check the mail. There's a small white envelope. Inside is a letter and a small bag of white powder. The letter reads:
Hello, my name is Jack. I'm telling you my name because I want you to remember me. Will you remember me? I think you will. I think you will because inside that bag is a half a kilogram of Anthrax. But don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about it. I did however, call the police to tell them about the other 6 kilograms of Anthrax that I have stashed inside your house. Now, the way I see it, you have two options here. You can run into your house right now and try to find all of it before the cops get here, or you can bring me $100,000 to the loading dock behind the K-Mart. Make it quick, I'm watching you.
Love, Jack
There really is only one option. I dont have a hundred thousand dollars. So I take off back to my house. I burst through the door and start ripping things apart, looking for bags. After about fifteen minutes of frantic searching, I finally find one bag. If each bag is half a kilo, then I only need to find... 11 more bags....
I can hear sirens in the distance. Now I have two options. I can keep looking, or I can get the heck out of here.
I think I will leave now.
I smash the back door open and tear through the yard. The cops are getting out of their cars and running after me. I get about a half mile before they catch up with me. They slam me to the ground and handcuff me. They walk me back to my house. When we get there, there is another cop standing on my front porch holding two bags of the white powder. They identify the powder as Anthrax and ask me how much more is still inside the house. I tell them there is probably 9 more bags. They talk amongst themselves for a while and then come back to me. They say that the threat is too great, and that they have to burn the house. They also notify me that I will spend the rest of my life in prison.
They dont bother to take me anywhere. They just leave me here watching as they burn my life to the ground. The fire is an awesome spectacle. The heat must be unbelievable, and yet my skin is cold and clammy as they push my back into the police car. We drive off down the road, our path is lit by the flames.
I won't forget this.
Even the smallest match can start a fire.
3 Days Later:
A man is walking down the street in front of the burned down house. A charred piece of paper floats in front of his path. He picks it up. It's almost completely burned. He can only make out one sentence on the whole paper.
It reads: "Will you remember me?"
