I stood in line with six strangers I had never seen before. Each had the same tattoo as me in the same place on their arm, each with short black hair, each slim figured. It was impeccable precision, I had to give the officers credit. Well, except for a few minor details, but I’d throw them a bone.

              There was a voice that came over a speaker suddenly, gruff as per usual, always acting tougher than what they were. I couldn’t see the source of the voice, but I knew that they must be able to see us considering we were all standing and staring at a wall like a bunch of idiots. Seriously, could they have at least had the decency to put us in a lineup with a two-way mirror? I wanted to see the officer’s cute little frowns, the way they shook their heads, disgusted at us. The mere thought nearly made me smile, but no, I had to stay silent among the others. What was that saying? Keep it cool? Yeah, I’d do that.

              The officer said, “Six victims convicted of murder and pyromania. Number 1, please step forward.”

              The person next to me stepped forward, hands behind their backs. They were trembling terribly, and I wanted nothing more than to roll my eyes. Seriously? Pathetic. I stepped up next and stated my case coolly, answered their questions, behaved as they wanted me to. I was a lap dog in their eyes, and I just needed to keep my mouth shut and look pretty. I could manage that for a few minutes.

              And after a long moment of silence and rounds of questions, number four was found guilty and would go to court. So, the others were released. I got my things, slipped easily out of my orange jumpsuit and into my jeans and jacket, and walked out with my hands shoved in my pockets.

              I walked out the front gates, glanced back at the police officer patrolling, and winked. What was that quote? ‘Incredible! One of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second!’

I turned my head and continued out to the parking lot. I slipped the familiar little box out my pocket and struck the match, then I tossed it into the dry grass and got into my car. And I drove away, tapping my hands on the steering wheel as I hummed along to the song on the radio, laughing to myself and at the poor man who was in my place right now. Oh well. The women always get out easy, I suppose.

I glanced back at the blaze beginning behind me through my rearview mirror, and I called to the wind, “I guess you should’ve added compulsive liar too!”