About the story

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Flames ate greedily along the scalloped edge of the lacy veil, then jumped into the bride’s perfect blonde hair. Golden drops oozed across her perky collarbone into the pearl satin of her dress, and the flames gained strength and purpose. Tiny sparkling flowers spiralled outwards and were caught by swathes of silk and rounds of instant ruffles.

I panicked and tried to pat out the baby inferno. I failed. The burning bride toppled stiffly sideways onto a forest of willowy bridesmaids in fluffy purple taffeta skirts. The fire spread. My escape route through the ceiling was blocked by the flaming wedding party. The air thickened. I was going to die. I wasn’t ready to do that. 

I bulldozed a path through the melting mannequins and climbed into the window display. The darkness outside was absolute. I tripped over a wooden hope chest, pretty with folksy flowers and vines that glowed orange in the firelight. It was a lovely thing, heavy and solid with sharp corners. I heaved it through the plate glass window. The hope chest landed on the pavement outside, surrounded by frothy drifts of glittering confetti. Glass. I mean glass.

The shop was a bonfire. I bounded out onto the footpath, safe. My luck was holding. There was no fire alarm and no-one had seen the fire yet. I threw my hood, mask and gloves far into the creek, into the middle of a thick clump of snake-infested reeds. No-one would search there. I strolled calmly to my truck and drove away.