Roger the Angry Campfire

It was a warm summer night. The horrendous sound of the guitar filled the air, and the disgusting aroma of my smoke wafted about the campsite. Yes, I am a campfire. While I was eating a fresh log, some snot nosed little punk stuck a marshmallow into my coals. In return I send a gargantuan load of blistering sparks his way. Taught that fatty not to mess with me. Aggressively, I roared about into the moist trees above. No good. Wet and soggy, the leaves would not be engulfed right now.

Above the table I heard the old haggardly wench talking to her shrivelled husband about me. Something about putting me out. I swear to god if that gray haired fool even tried to douse me, I would be blazing to high and id burn his ugly face off. He nervously approached me with a small bucket of water. HA! if he thinks that tiny thing is going to ruin my fun, he better think twice. As he took a step closer, I climbed up into the trees and ignited the leaves, starting a massive forest fire. I was delighted to witness that old man to try and put me out. Roasting, my small humble campfire body had turned into an unstoppable inferno! All thanks to that stupid old man.

I felt no sympathy for the trapped family, and as I drifted towards the tent, I heard the growing sounds of screaming children. Abruptly, it ended as a gust of wind blew me straight into the helpless couple. Fried human smelt sort of like chicken. It was magnificent. Sirens of firetrucks could be heard in the distance, and if they got to me before I could reach the gas pump, my plan would be spoiled. Within seconds, the trucks had reached the scene. I was not far from the gas pump, a gust of wind would surely allow me to reach it. But luck was against me. The dedication of the fire fighters was too much. Speedily, I was reduced to a smouldering pile of gray ashes. My reign of terror was over, but at least I killed the pathetic old man and his helpless family.