The leaves crackled, the spades made muted thuds. A small billow of smoke wafted towards the roof of the church. The church garden itself was filled with the faithful. They did what they did through guilt and the demand of overzealous parents. Who could do this through choice, if not through desperation? The fire kept burning, its determination wavering as its fuel ran low. I held the deodorant in my pocket, its cool metal hiding a fierce temper. My friend nudged me. Neither of us could remember who placed the can. But, hell, we remembered the bang. Everyone panicked. Some of them screamed. A boy of 9 yelled about his ears.
And when asked I stated firmly: “I didn’t do it.”
No one believed me, and honestly, I didn’t care.