Madhouse

Darkness drapes across the village as soon as the power goes out. No sound is audible, but surely the area is such a chaotic place that no one is ever aware of. I am never comfortable with darkness... especially when I get to see things that I am not supposed to see.

Flickering lights burn leisurely at the corner, and next to it are the fascinated orbs of my brother. The flames reflect not a simple flicker in his eyes, but a full-blown, blazing fire. His morbid enthrallment of the latter began when we were mere toddlers, always huddled next to the fireplace, quietly captivated by the red and orange fire that licked dangerously inches before his face. There is this pleasure in him whenever he sees it, even in burning houses and things crumbling into ashes.

Both of us were unusual in our own ways, and I'm not sure if our parents were blessed, or cursed, with the two of us.

I walk past him, catching his mumbled words, ones he had been asking repeatedly.

"Is it pleasurable to see people turn to ashes?" Asher asks innocently in a sweet voice, supplemented by an obstinate look in his eyes as he plays with the dancing flames on the candle. He says it so naively, it's almost painful to hear those sinister words from his mouth. Goose bumps arise as soon as I hear those words from him. Sometimes, his way of thinking scares me to the point that I think of him as a psychopath. His queer behavior began when he once saw a file regarding a certain case that our parents held in the past. Our parents are both cops and an arsonist was killed in action, guilty of murdering several people by setting buildings on fire, or by solely burning his victims alive.

Honestly, that person, for unknown reason, caught my curiosity. I found out that the man was an example of a person that was never be able to save by the society. Poorly degraded by a hypocrite community. Denied his existence for what he became. Who is to be blame? Ironically it may seem, but it appeared like he found peace in the chaos of fire...just like Asher.

Cold breeze enters the room and the curtain dances gently with the wind, and my notice is drawn to the window which is ajar. It catches my attention and some force of nature unconsciously compels me to walk towards it, so I did. I look up at the sky, painted in painfully dark colors. Gray, threatening murk slowly covers the moon, the only source of light in the night, until I can see it no more. The chilling wind nips at my skin and creates an eerie ambiance. I gasp for a breath in the bitter air.

Across the street, a lifeless tree stood. I turn away and avert my gaze from it, when something makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. A smoldering stench in the thin air assails my nostrils, and I turn.

Situated beside the tree, a man stood-- a man with such a pale face, burned and singed at the edges. But that wasn't what scared me, it was his eyes... that burned holes right through me, swimming with anger and despair. Out of fear, I chose to close the window but long before I noticed, a faint sound came from beneath the shadows, drowned when someone spoke.

"Stop playing with the candle," Dad says fiercely, and Asher furrows his brows, cursing under his breath. He never likes it when someone sojourns him from what he's doing especially related to his passion. I let the moment pass, with the knowledge that the both of us were fed up with hatred towards our parents. They were merely people who brought us to life but that don't give them the proper title of a father and a mother. We were merely living in a house, never a home. They were the typical busy parents. Always at work. No time for their kids. We were mature enough to understand, but it wasn't an excuse to forget their responsibility-- it's not our fault now that they claim to not know who we even were anymore.

"It is pleasurable to see people turn into ashes."

He smirks deceitfully at me before putting off the candle light and going to bed.