"Say Tom..."

tom sat at his desk writing (if you could call it that.) He could have writing better poetry by tossing ink at the wall. tom sat there everyday at noon and wrote for 3 hours. When someone would ask him what he was doing he would reply "dying...but on paper". Someone would always come along to ask him this, most of the time it was smith, tom's really only friend. Smith for all anyone could tell had no first name. Everyone called him smith because it was a common last name and seemed to suit him, and by everyone I mean tom. Smith never corrected anyone, by anyone I mean tom. Just went with it. Smith was an avid drinker and smoker. This came about mostly cause he was always running about setting things on fire, it was his favorite past time. AS one would think being around all those fires can make one thirsty, he only drank water if any. The smoking came about mostly because he didn't have steady hands. He would find something he liked (or someone he didn't like, by someone I mean tom) and he would get so excited that he would always take to long with the match and it would burn him. Thus causing him to drop it and set his cloths a blaze.

This day was a special day but no one really knew why, and by no one I mean tom. Smith had just walked into the room with a box of matches and tom still sitting at his desk.
"hey tom whatcha doing?" said smith as he lit a match and started to walk over to tom.
"Dying...but on paper."
Smith had burned himself again but managed to doge the falling flame.
"Oh not done with that yet hun...what about...now." smiths pauses where mostly cause he was trying hard to figure what end to light again.
"dying....but on paper."
"oh I get it red fire, you think I would have gotten that earlier." smith said excitingly, overly excitedly to see if tom would join in. Tom paused for a moments thought and responded.
"Smith I really have no idea what you’re talking about."
"you know tom I don't think I do either." Said smith as he lit another and ran towards tom.
"That's never going to work smith. The running puts out the match and walking takes to long so you end up lighting yourself on fire."
Because you see, smith had to light matches in a door way. It was the only place he really felt was safe to start fires. For the most part this had never been a problem for smith, except when he wanted to light anybody on fire, and by anybody I mean tom.
"say tom can you come over to the door? I really can't reach you over there."
"hold on"
"say tom... what you doing?" smith had given up for the moment and was looking over tom's should.
"dying ...but on paper."
"you almost done with that yet, I mean I've never been able to set fire to you. You really should try it tom. It's something you can't image."
"I think I can smith. I see you do it plenty of times. first you walk around thinking everything’s fine-"
"That's the hard part."
"then you look shocked and bewildered-"
"That's...I don't remember that part really."
"then you run about as the flames chase after you, but you can't out run them cause it's your cloths that are really on fire-
"That's the fun part really."
"Then you roll around on the floor screaming, wishing for any thing to stop the pain even death, and I wishing to fulfill that wish."
"....ok well that part sucks, but really it's not as bad as I make it sound, and by "I" I mean you...unless by sound I mean look. In which cause the I should be an I, but that's just because I'm not very good at it yet."
Tom stood up and closed the book. He walked over and tossed it on a pile of burring curtains that smith had already set on fire.
"what did you do that for tom, I thought everyone was going to read your book, and by everyone I mean you tom."
"I finished it; I wasn't sure what next to do with it."
"well, well, what shall we do now.”?
"I think I going to-"
"Say Tom...