The next thing I know is that we are in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It’s like an average out of the way middle class type place. Houses line the street, and each one is separated by modest yards and driveways. I’m among a group that is here by direction. There’s an understanding among us all that we are to criminally destroy this particular two story house. I don’t know any of the other people in the group tasked with the take down, or who’s house it is. It’s hard to tell how many of us there are, however, it’s a big group, and every time you turn around there’s another new face. No one seems at all conflicted about what we are to do. This is an arson job, but for some reason we’re to do a partial demolition before setting it on fire.
I know that I’ve witnessed the entire place being dowsed, loaded, and packed with incendiary and accelerant. When it’s ignited it will be a virtual explosion. I realize that the part of the plan I’m unaware of is the detonation. Walking across the much demolished second floor I get the sense of the impending inevitable ignition. This place is about to go up in flames. Actually, I’m right now anticipating the trigger spark which sets this whole place ablaze. I’m out. I’m standing here, kind of metaphorically, looking back at the semi wrecked house. I can see people moving around inside. These are the same people that were prepping this place with the incendiary. They’re not working anymore. They seem to be inspecting the work we’ve done, almost like they’re acting out a crime scene investigation movie scene. I have an anonymous relationship with my coworkers. In spite of feeling strongly that the place is about to blow, I don’t immediately leave the side yard. For some reason communication with those left behind is not possible. I realize that we never really had communicated. Sensing the impending fire storm I can feel any commitment to remain go away.
In spite of knowing that I’ve been a cursory part of the plan to set this place on fire, I no longer feel connected to it. In my mind I’m thinking that the people left must know the danger of having the place blow at any time. I can’t figure why they continue to go through the motions of making a show. Do they know the timing? Do they think they can get out after it blows? Why would you want to? Not only am I not communicating with my coconspirators, there is a dwindling feeling of wanting to. I grab my hammer. It feels more comfortable in my hand than I remember. I start walking away from the building we’ve wrecked and made ready for inferno. Purpose builds with each stride. With each step the feeling grows that what I’m leaving behind is a great curiosity. Curious, for sure, in many ways. What was this all about? How many, if any, got out before it blew? Did anyone survive the blast/ burn? There’s no doubt it’s going to be intense. Stop! Without turning around I begin to wonder…