This is not my story, this is the story of my brother. It is time the world knew the truth of why The Fire Rises. I hope history will be kind on him.
The Fire Rises, Brother
Chapter One; The Match is Lit
So I am sure you all know of my story, how I was born into the darkness of that pit. But actually I lied, I was born and grew up in a little town that was like those sterotypes of suburbia. But, like always, there was a dark side to this idyllic place, and that dark side was sadly my little brother.
We had an age gap of about two years between us, though I was always a big guy for my age. Being the eldest, I always protected my little brother. But even I knew, from a young age, that he wasn't quite right.
It started when he was a baby. A strange glazed look would come over his eyes whenever he was in the room with our log fire. His eyes would never cease to look at the flames licking the wood. The sparks that would spurt would dance, relfected in those eyes.
I was in the room when he uttered his first word. I had picked up his rattle, which he always threw to floor; he never played with it until, one day when he lost his old blue one, my mother bought him a red one, which he then would rattle. He stared into my eyes as I was handing him back this rattle when, as clear as day, he uttered the word: "Fire". He had never said a single sound until this moment.
On my brother's third birthday, my dad gave him a toy fire truck. "Happy birthday son!" exclaimed my father. My brother was able to talk at this point, but only basic things, and in monotone. "What this do?" asked my brother. "Well son, this is a fire truck,". At this, my brothers eyes lit up and he started wheeling it along while saying "FIRE FIRE FIRE MAKE FIRE". Then my father continued, "It has water inside, the firemen use it to put out any fires they find.". The smile from my brothers face fell faster than the speed of light, a scowl replacing it. "BURN!" He yelled, smashing the truck repeatedly on the ground.
Of course my parents had not failed to notice that my brother was, well, different. When he was five, just before he started school, they took him to a doctor, and he was diagnosed with suspected autism, though nobody was really sure what was wrong with him. All I knew was that my brother was special and it was my job as the older brother to look out for him and protect him. I loved my brother, no matter what.
School was okay, my brother was put in a special class, as he refused to use normal colored pens to write with; He insisted on using red, orange or yellow. He was very reluctant to learn the basics, and often had tantrums if anyone tried to stop him from endlessly drawing fires. At lunchtime, me and my gang would sit with him to keep him company. Because I was a big guy, nobody ever gave me any trouble, and I was actually good at making friends so I had a cool little gang.
In the summer, I would go to camp. My brother went with me when he was 7. Our camp was fun, it had the usual range of activites, and I always enjoyed going. I was really looking foreward to this year as I was going to be promoted to a juinor leader. However, on our first day, my brother spazzed out when he saw the camp lake and I was busy trying to calm him down when the head camper came over. "I think it would be best if your brother went back home". "NO!" I cried, "He will be okay, just let me help him". But the head camper wouldn't let him stay, and so my parents were going to come the next day to pick us up.
That evening, we had a camp fire. My brother watched, entranced by how the head camper made the fire. My brother turned to me and whispered "The fire rises." "Yes brother, it does" I said to him. That night, around midnight, I was woken by my brother. "The camp must burn". I was worried by this, but I knew if I said anything, firstly he would sperg out and secondly, they would take my brother away to the dreaded Arkham Asylum and I would never see him again. Fuck the head camper, I thought to myself. I turned to my brother. "Tonight, we will destroy the camp, and then, when it is done and the camp is in ashes, you have my permission to leave." I know this sounds weird, what I was saying, but I found that talking in this way was the only way my brother really understood.
Grabbing two dry sticks, he started rubbing them together. Smoke appeared and almost instantly, a flame, which started spreading to a pile of pine branches my brother had laced around the camp complex. As you know, pine burns easily, and soon the camp was on fire. The camp leader was not able to escape in time, and burnt to death. My brother and I stood from a distance watching. Nobody found out what had happened. My brother was safe for the time being.
As my brother grew older, he found out about matches, lighters, flammable substances and every day after school, I would find him in the woods making small fires. The woods were just at the end of our block of houses, so it was so easy to hang out in them. But things wouldn't get serious until middle school.