Summer 2005 was very hot and dry, and the forest fires raged across southern Europe. In Portugal over 180,000 hectares of woodland were destroyed.
I was getting pretty alarmed at one point as the flames spread down the hill towards the two houses above the village, one of which was mine. But the wind began to change, and it looked as though we might be spared. I was willing the fire to at least reach the house of the man whose land was above mine. I hated that bastard.
Much to my displeasure and my neighbour’s good fortune, though he wasn’t at home to witness it, the fire petered out, merely blackening the far wall of his house.
It seemed like too good an opportunity to miss so, armed with a can of petrol and a box of matches, I finished what nature had started.
Written for a Flash Fiction (150 word limit) challenge with the theme Hot