Jeremy laughed a cute fifteen-year-old boy’s laugh at the spectacle.

Tomorrow, he wanted to see what a full minute would do.

From upstairs, Jeremy’s older brother hollered, "Hey, get your ass up here. Mom wants the dishes washed."

Jeremy hated his brother for several reasons. One was the fact Brad was a faggot. Jeremy has heard the sound of several orgasms emitting from Brad’s bedroom, but only on the nights mom and dad were away and only when another guy was in there. Jeremy knew what a blowjob sounded like.

Jeremy hated Brad for other reasons too. Like now, him standing well within mom’s hearing range, yelling like that so he could get brownie points.

Mom didn’t know about the gay thing Jeremy figured. Otherwise she’d probably pitch a fit. Dad would probably kill him.

But Jeremy knew, damn straight he did. And he despised his brother for it.

"I’m coming," he replied.

Puddy raced past, still in panic mode, as Jeremy mounted the steps.

The next day Puddy was captured and tossed in the dryer again. This time the cat fought back. Jeremy received several nasty gashes as a result of trying to dry the feline.

Once the animal was inside, he hit the switch. Jeremy sat in front of the dryer listening to the cat’s screams. These screams tapered off over the first couple of minutes but Jeremy let the cycle finish. He stood transfixed as Puddy cooked.

The cat remained tumbling for the entire forty-minute cycle.

Later, when sissy-ass Brad told Mom and Dad about Puddy’s senseless murder, Jeremy got the whipping of his life.

 Over the course of the next five years, Dad got cancer and died, Mom found Prozac, Brad came out of the closet, and Puddy was forgotten about.

Or almost forgotten about; Jeremy remembers the deep satisfaction of doing the deed.

He went all that time without killing anything else, but the memory of doing it (and the desire to do it again) never went away.

By now, the fifteen year old was twenty-one and the faggot was twenty-six.

Brad had invited his ‘friend’ to dinner. Jeremy couldn’t stand to see these two as they looked at one another with ‘that’ look in their eyes. Mom was so stoned she couldn’t react to the two men kissing at the dinner table.

But Jeremy reacted.

Not right then, not even the next night, or the night after that.

On a Tuesday, Jeremy killed Brad.

Brad and his boyfriend enjoyed sex immensely, but there was one tiny problem. Brad still had a very small opening in his ‘back door’ and Rick, Brad’s current flame, possessed a very large member. So large in fact that Brad often gagged till he puked during romantic encounters.

When it came time to do the horizontal bop, Brad ingested muscle relaxers, this gave him a little edge over the pain. Just enough to enjoy it.

It was after one those nights when Jeremy crept into Brad’s bedroom and tied him to the bed rails.

Brad was almost as fucked-up as Mom that night.

He awoke confused (and a bit sore ‘back there’) and said, "Wha da fuck you doing Jeremy?"

Jeremy slammed his fist down on the helpless man’s stomach.

"OWWWWW! ...get the fuck away from me!"

Jeremy sledghammered his brother again, this time in the groin and this time harder.

Brad screamed (just like Puddy did five years ago) and tried to get loose.

No good, Jeremy’s Boy Scout knots held him in place.

Jeremy mounted Brad’s chest as though he were mounting a horse (or getting a blowjob) and placed his knees were on either side of Brad’s head, holding it fast.

Then the younger of the two brothers placed a funnel in the older brother’s mouth. "Be quiet Brad, you won’t feel a thing."

This was a blatant lie. Brad felt many things. He could only moan in pain.

This was when Jeremy dumped gasoline in the funnel, which wasn’t too nice a thing to do.

Brad gagged some of it back out, but for the most part the liquid flowed down his throat.

Eighty-nine octane gas met soft internal tissue and went caustic. Brad’s vocal cords began dissolving, as did the lining of his windpipe.

His lungs filled and now his moaning had a bubbly quality, kind of put Jeremy in mind of a Brittney Spears song.

Brad’s brain decided that passing out would be a good thing right now, so Brad’s brain did just that; it shut down his consciousness.

Jeremy didn’t care, this was too much fun. "Here kitty," he whispered and continued pouring.

When the funnel wouldn’t accept any more, Jeremy hopped off his brother and stood back.

"Here kitty, Kitty, KITTY!" he said, each word getting louder.

Then he tossed a flaming Zippo on his brother’s face.

Jeremy has held a deep fascination for fire since the cat experiment. He loved the newscasts on TV showing houses aflame and even the fake fires in the movies.

But tonight he wanted to recreate a process he’d seen on The Discovery Channel. He wanted to see a burnt bed and two feet sticking from the ashes.

It did not happen the way he imagined. The lighter hit its mark and Brad’s face became a flaming, thrashing blaze. Fire shot upward from his mouth like that of a ruptured gas line.

The volatile liquid embraced the flame, inviting it inside Brad’s body.

Then Brad blew up. Fiery chunks of skin and smoldering chunks of organs rained about the room like a grotesque Fourth of July show.

Jeremy’s hair caught fire first. Then his shirt, then the house.

Mom died in her sleep. She was so drugged she didn’t know she died.

Jeremy escaped the devastation with first, second, and third degree burns. But he didn’t escape prosecution.

The End

 ADDENDUM:
In block A, next to the holding cells, is the kitchen. There are several gas stoves in there.
Jeremy is sure he can suck enough prison dicks to get a wrench and a pack of matches.

Here kitty, kitty, kitty...