Last Confession

The plan was simple: Set the school on fire. Save the guy. The "live-happily-ever-after" end.

Let me answer your questions. How old am I? Sixteen. Why am I literally playing-with-fire? Well... Am I crazy? Perhaps. Don't I see the danger? I do, and that's exactly why I planned it so.

He and I conversed during homeroom through Morse. His desk was behind mine, so it worked out well. Special messages were often carved on bits of chocolate, double-sided-tape and aluminum foil wrappers. It was cute.

But lately, he'd shut me out. Not a word. Not even a response to a "...---..." SOS message. And so it went on for months when I snapped. I needed him back at literally any cost.

It was perfect. The remote-control solar-powered car from the science-fair was set on the window by my desk. The weights from the physics-lab, placed perfectly to pull down the lighter on the key-chain, just long enough to light the oil-dipped newspaper that stuck out from the edge of my wooden desk. I had the classroom keys, being the class rep: doors sealed. Archery was right outside the window, two floor below. His chess club was two rooms away, and the only other member had quit the day before.

All I had to do was slip out of archery training and press one button. The rest would take care of itself.

And then, things went wrong.

The sirens flared up as expected. My plastic lighter was molten by now, so I was safe. I slipped in through the back staircase and beelined to the chess club.

Empty.

This wasn't the plan.

The school was clearing out. The general panic was hardly a hindrance to my concentration. The smoke, however, was. I could hardly breathe. This was wrong. Plain wrong. He was supposed to be in the chess club, perhaps passed out. I was to come, first-aid, and make a quick exit, if necessary, through the window. I thought I'd covered all the worst case scenarios. I had to think fast.

I rushed to the store-room. The chess boards were to be returned there after practice. Empty. Sports room: Empty. Terrace: Empty.

Tick-tock-tick-tock.

After what seemed like forever, and what probably cost me much more, I realized the real worst case scenario. I ran back to my classroom in slow motion - my feet couldn't move any faster. My shoes were melting in the heat. My lungs were giving up. I thought I was done for. Yet, that would have been better:

The classroom door lay burning on the floor. There he was. His head on my desk. Eyes open. Absolutely still. Perhaps, in an alternate, fireproof universe, we'd laugh about his flaming hair.

All I saw now was the smoldering silver foil that lay beside him:

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- ( I love you)

My tears vaporized before they fell. I hardly felt the pain.

"I love you too, stupid! I've always loved you!"