Arson: (n) the criminal act of deliberately setting fire to property.

When the original writers of the Good Book sat down and tried to describe hell in a way that would be frightening to their readers, they chose fire.

It was an extremely effective marketing tool, because in that day and age, most people handled fire, saw fire, warmed by it, and probably knew somebody who had died in one.

Nowadays, we don’t necessarily deal with fire. We might catch a glimpse of one on television, but the true impact, heat and destruction of this force never registers in our consciousness unless we are up-close and personal.

Many years ago I was staying in a motel–a rather dilapidated institution which might have had former days of glory, although no immediate evidence of that luxury was prevalent in any of the rooms.

To make a long story short, one of my afternoon naps was interrupted by a frantic knock on the door, informing me that we had to exit immediately because the place was on fire.

I stepped out of the room and walked into the parking lot. Sure enough, just above us, on the second floor, whipping flames were escaping out of a door.

I gathered the family together quickly, grabbing the few things we could not live without. We climbed into our vehicle and had the foresight to pull out of the parking lot and move several buildings away, so that when the fire trucks arrived, we could escape with our car intact, free of damage.

There are three things I remember about that day.

My sons wanted to go take a look at the fire, so we headed back towards the burning motel. We soon realized that we could not get within fifty yards of it without being overcome by the heart and woozy from the smoke. Watching the firemen go in and out, trying to contain the blaze, was baffling and inspiring.

The second thing I remember was how shocked I was to discover that the fire was set by the owner to get rid of the property. It was an arson. Unfortunately, he did not realize that the room next to the place where he ignited his crime was occupied by an old man who was unable to get out, and died.

The whole time I was thinking about the phrase, “Don’t play with fire.”

That day I realized why: fire has neither respect nor honors boundaries.

In no time at all, the entire second floor of this motel was engulfed in flames, and we were very fortunate that evening, when everything had calmed down, to return to our room and retrieve our belongings.

The third and final thing I remember about that arson happened the next morning.

Sitting over breakfast and far away from those flames, the horror of the inferno returned to my mind, and I started to shake uncontrollably.

It was terrifying.

It was like I was possessed by a spasm which refused to relent. It took most of the morning for me to calm down.

I do not know if there’s a hell, but I will tell you…if it contains any fire, it should give us the shakes.

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix