Write about building a fire.

They looked at each other, nodded once, turned back to face the road ahead of them. It was 3 a.m. and no one was around. Not even the crickets. It was creepily quiet. 

He wanted to look over at her again but knew that if he did he might try to talk them out of this. This...this crazy ass idea. But then he remembered what he did. He thought about the bruises all over her face, the bite marks, the cuts and his anger swelled again. He thought about how that motherfucker got a slap on the wrist in the form of community service. He thought about his smirk as he left the courtroom. He thought about his sister crying hysterically because she was terrified every single day. He thought about her debilitating night terrors.

They were leaving the city tomorrow at 8 a.m. but right now they were heading to his house. It was across town about 30 min from where they were. He put the car in drive. They didn't speak the entire way there. He parked a block from the house and sat for a few minutes in silence. 

She glared ahead, took a deep breath and then got out of the car. He followed her. Dressed in all black, he could barely make her out. Which was sort of the point.

He smelled the gasoline but couldn't see where she was putting it. He kept a lookout. No one was around. Every house was dark. Suddenly, she was right in front of him. She was done. She walked back towards the car and then past it. She needed to find a place to dump the canister. 

His turn.

Hands shaking, he flicked his lighter on and before he could think any further, threw it onto the porch. He walked quickly back to the car; she was already inside and waiting. They pulled away as the fire spread eerily fast. They were already on their way out of the city when they heard the sirens.

"I hope he enjoys hell," she said, quietly.