Like A Critter In An Attic At Midnight

The gas poured out. He struck the match and everything went aflame. The fire burned hot enough to melt the bones. He wanted to cover up his deed but he uncovered his soul; laid it bare to his conscience. His conscience scritched like a critter in an attic at midnight, gnawing at woods, souls, hearts, and minds. His naked soul was pelted with images of char and sounds of wail. The guilt washed over him like blood, encasing him with no chance of escape…or innocence. Though the state would never know, though his parents would never know, he would know and this knowledge would be his prison till he stopped breathing.