Burn

Steve lifted the pile of dirty clothes with a grin on his face, carrying them out of his room where they had been piling up in a corner, and out into his backyard. He had cleared out a space on his patio with plenty of room around it, and in the center placed the old bowl that he had once called a fire pit. It was rusted out plate for all intents and purposes, and it hadn't stored any firewood for years, because the rust put it in danger of burning out. He had always been too lazy to get rid of it, and now he was glad he hadn't, because it would be able to serve him one last time.

He dumped the clothes into the bowl, trying to contain the gleeful squeal that wanted to erupt from his lips, and pulled out his phone to snap a picture of the scene. He wanted to make sure to document the process he was about to go through. He was going to remember this for the rest of his life, but he wanted to make sure that he never forgot exactly what it looked like.

That day had been his last day at his job. A day that he had worked day in and day out without fail, always serving customers with a smile, always greeting each and every one of his coworkers as they walked past, and secretly hating every moment of his life while he did it. That job had slowly drained every once of power and life from his soul, and he had withered away, but it had paid him well and he needed the money. But he had been wise. Wise enough to put as much of that money away as he possibly could, building his savings and letting his interest build. He bought only the things he absolutely needed up until he could live comfortably on those savings alone for at least a year. And then he put in his two week notice, claiming to have accepted another job elsewhere, and counted down the days until he was done.

He would get another job eventually. Maybe one that didn't pay quite as well, but one where he would feel like he could at least be alive on the inside. But he needed at least a month to himself, to rebuild the spark of life that he had lost in his years there. And he intended to start that spark with another kind of spark.

The gasoline flowed freely over the clothes, soaking into the fabric and pooling at the bottom of the fire bowl, all while Steve frequently snapped pictures. His face hurt from how much he was smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so joyous, and he hadn't even gotten to the best part. He had started just at sunset, and he sat down and waited a bit for the sky to grow dark, soaking in the feeling of freedom that had so long eluded him.

And then he lit the match, and tossed it into the pit, and watched as the flames erupted around his work clothes, consuming them, never to be worn again.