“The building was on fire, and it wasn’t my fault.”

“The fire that warms us can also consume us; it is not the fault of the fire.”

“White people build a really big fire and stand way back. Indians build a little-bitty fire and get real close.”

“He said I was a dirty boy,’ whispered Lockie. ‘I was a dirty boy and that was why he did stuff to me, because I was dirty. It was my fault.’‘Bullshit!’ Tina shouted and half the locker room turned around. Tina grabbed Lockie’s hand and they didn’t stop moving until they were out on the street. The cold was a shock after the warmth of the gym but she kept him walking fast until they got back home.‘It wasn’t your fault, Lockie. It’s never the kid’s fault. The uniform was an evil piece of shit and nothing he said to you was true.’‘It was my fault—it was,’ whined Lockie.‘Why? Why was it your fault?’‘I was supposed to stand by the stroller. I was supposed to hold on and not move while Mum got the prize. Dad had to carry the cake. I was supposed to stand by the stroller and not move. It was my fault.’Lockie’s tears burst like a dam. His small shoulders heaved and his sleeve became a tissue.Tina leaned down and grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Look at me, Lockie.’He did as he was told.‘This wasn’t your fault. Kids do stuff like that all the time. I have no idea what you’re talking about but I can tell you that my little brother wandered off every chance he got. It wasn’t your fault, Lockie; you were just being a kid.”

“It wasn’t like I made his world better. It was like I was his world. It wasn’t some explosion; it wasn’t fireworks. It was a fire, burning slowly from the inside out.”

“Pay For Soup/Build A Fort/Set That On Fire”