Firestarter

That’s a game, right? The one where you burn down the city and everything?

Who would burn down a school?

Who in their right mind would burn down a school?

Interrogation

I paused my story to study Marvin’s face. I wanted to see whether he was at all shocked or surprised at me and Prisoner X’s objective of searching for Number 1. Predictably, he didn’t seem to be. In fact, he didn’t seem to care at all. This particular aspect of my story wasn’t at all a sticking point for him. Even if he had eyelashes, he wouldn’t have batted them, I was sure.

No surprise there. That’s always been a fatal flaw of ours, and an advantage you turkeys have always held over us humans. Probably why you came out on top in the end, come to think of it. Turkeys have never very much cared who Number 1 is.

“What’s with that look?” Marvin asked, cocking his head quizzically.

“What’s with what look?”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to scrutinize me like that,” he said matter-of-factly. I guess he got that I was trying to read his expression. That’s a shrink for you. Or a police psychoanalyst. Or whatever Marvin really was. But broadly, that’s also always been a part of your upper hand — upper wing, whatever — over us too: you can read our expressions way better than we can read yours.

Anyway, Marvin continued: “You don’t have to look at me that way, you know. As if I’m your enemy.” He smiled big. “Really, any conflict that exists between us is circumstantial. Just because I’m on one side of this table and you’re on the other doesn’t mean we aren’t working towards the same goal. And we are: we’re on the same side here. That’s why I want to know exactly what happened.”

I couldn’t believe this. He was lying through his beak. He already knew what happened. They all did. I was brought back into police custody for god’s sake. They literally caught me. They already knew the whole story. They already knew everything.

“Doesn’t it already say everything that happened in the report?” I asked.

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you.”

“From me?”

“From you. Believe it or not, I truly am invested in your story. See these?”

He slid a manila envelope onto the table, situated it exactly halfway between us. He didn’t even have to tell me what it was for me to know. Inside this file were reports galore, all on me. The official story behind what me and Prisoner X had done.

Marvin shuffled a few of the white sheets out. I thought he was going to start reading from them, enumerating the evidence or what have you. Start lecturing me in some way, basically. But instead, he did something I never would’ve predicted. He tossed the papers behind his back. Then he grabbed even more sheets from the envelope and tossed those over his shoulder too, a huge burst of flying paper that eventually settled into a gentle snowfall of ink and crime.

“The reports?” he said. “Couldn’t care less. I want to hear the story from you. Because I want it from… what’s that saying you humans use? From the horse’s mouth. I want to know what you went through. Not what some pencil pushing” — This time he didn’t bother fishing inside, just picked up the entire envelope and whatever documents were left therein and flung them across the room. Another rain of sheets. They landed near some dried blood. Mine. — “police investigator who’s been sitting in a cubicle with his wing up his ass doing safe busywork since the revolution wrote about it after the fact.”

He kept going. He was getting heated now. Not mad or anything. Passionate. “You want to know what I want? I want the truth.”

I just looked at him blankly and blinked. “Which version?”

I don’t think he liked this question very much. He did genuinely laugh at it though. Not the fake laugh he had been using on me up until this point, the laugh he could obviously put on and taken off like clothing. But a real laugh. “There are no versions of the truth. All there is is there’s the truth, and then there’s everything else.”

“Alright,” I said. “You want the truth?”

“It’s what I’m here for.” His wattle swayed as he spoke.

“It’s complicated.”

Testimony

The first place we hit was a boarding house for orphans with leukemia. Unfortunately, none of the patients were inside at the time. Mostly because they’d all been dead for probably decades at this point. The place was a disused wreck and clearly had been for years. Not surprising. The turkeys had no use for this kind of facility. In the years following their victory, they had, of course, cured all known diseases. And they would never have abandoned their young to a foster care system so vile as the one our species had implemented in its prime. In the extremely rare cases of orphanage or child abandonment amongst the turkeys, entire communities came together to ensure the affected offspring were properly cared for, properly housed and fed, properly loved. So this place, this wreckage bordering on a human slum, was obviously not high on their priority list when it came to redevelopment.

Surprisingly difficult to set alight though, considering all the old dry splintered wood everywhere. That was true of all of me and Prisoner X’s targets, actually. Doing what we were doing was not easy when all we had was a single lighter to do it with.

We did eventually manage it though, in the end. There was no one around, so we took a bit of a chance and watched the aftermath of our handiwork for a while, admiring it, caught up in the marvel of its heat and its glow like mesmerized insects.

“Where now?” I asked, thinking we had probably better steal some protective gear for the next one. I coughed. Or at least some surgical masks or something.

Interrogation

A rustle of feathers as the turkey before me folded his wings calmly. “So you did, technically, start the fire then… you admit?”

“No. I didn’t start the fire.”

“Your accomplice did then. Prisoner X?”

“No. And I don’t know who did.”

Testimony

After that we torched a couple more spots. Minor jobs. We honed our skills. Perfected them, even. By this point the cops were onto us, obviously, and so were all the fire precincts in a wide radius. That was ok. We were smarter than them. And more agile. It was us two versus the world, but that was ok too. I found that one extra person than usual was easy enough to tolerate.

In fact, being with Prisoner X made my new life of crime significantly more possible to survive. He was the one who planned all our maneuvers. When it was safe to eat, safe to sleep. Safe to talk. Safe to move. Safe to enact our plans. Safe to steal our water and nourishment. Turkey civilization, I found out, had very similar tastes to the human society that had come before. And just like us, they produced in surplus. There was always plenty of leftover food to go around, provided you knew when and where to get your hands on it before it was donated. Oh, that’s something that was different about the new world, come to think of it: unlike us humans, turkeys never let their surplus food supply go to waste, and a turkey never let a fellow turkey go hungry. They donated everything, threw nothing out. They produced in excess like us, but didn’t waste a penny’s worth of food, or of anything, ever. They were completely kind, completely benevolent, completely as one — filial, almost. Thousands of them all acting towards the common good.

Except when it came to humans. Calling you lot unkind to us would be like calling Thanksgiving dinner “unpleasant” to me. A gross exaggeration. You were ruthless. We saw it all firsthand, me and Prisoner X. What humans remained, sick, starving, crammed by law and by guarded and armed checkpoints into designated slums, policed constantly in tightly packed mazes of shacks and wreckage. Places rife with abject poverty and utter destitution, zones devoid and deliberately deprived of the basic necessities for an even remotely dignified life.

Those were some of the most fun places to burn to the ground. Especially when the residents lived to see what little they had go down in flames.

It was kind of weird though, thinking back. Prisoner X was obviously the one in charge, and for most of our time together, I was something between a sidekick and lackey. But even still, I was the only one who ever decided our targets. Prisoner X never chose which neighborhood, which building, we would hit next.

Interrogation

“Not even once?”

“Well… just once. But only once.”

“Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

Testimony

One early morning, me and Prisoner X were headed to the next target of my choosing. We stole down city streets cool and quiet in the darkness before dawn.

“Hey, Prisoner X?” I asked.

“What?”

“I was just wondering…”

“What, kid? Spit it out. It’s safe here. We can talk.”

We were strolling side by side through a perfectly hibernating neighborhood still dark and silent with sleep. The area was middle class. All detached units. Based in human designs, surely — the bedrock of turkey urban planning was not to uproot human civilization, but to take what we had built, our infrastructure, and improve it tenfold. And credit to you: you never failed to accomplish this. I was familiar with this neighborhood actually, but it was now much nicer than in my memories of it as a child. Cleaner and neater than anything our species had ever achieved in its prime, no question. Quieter too. Quiet as death, I probably would have said if I didn’t know any better.

Anyway, I’m getting off track. Point is I knew it was safe to talk there. That wasn’t why I was hesitating to say what I was about to say.

“I was just thinking,” I told Prisoner X, “about our goal here. It’s just, you know, I don’t see how burning the city to the ground is getting us closer to figuring out who Number 1 is.” It was true. I had no clue why any of this mattered at all. Let alone why Prisoner X wanted to find out who Number 1 was so badly in the first place.

Prisoner X got angry at my question, just like I knew he would. “Look, Chimp. I’m gonna be blunt with you. You’re not the brains of this operation. I am. So really, when you think about it, you really don’t have to know the answers to the stupid questions you can’t seem to stop yourself from asking, do you?”

I didn’t think that was quite fair. Somehow, I hadn’t yet realized that what I thought didn’t matter.

“I’m not the brains?” I remember asking. Apparently I thought I was the brains.

“No. You’re not. I am.”

For a while we walked side by side in silence. Until I broke it.

“Hey, Prisoner X?”

“What?”

“If you’re the brains, then what am I?”

“The brawn obviously. Don’t you know about the brains and the brawn? Special missions like the one we’re on always require a team of two. The brains and the brawn. The brains is the one in charge. He’s the smart one, who comes up with all the plans. The brawn is the dumb idiot who does all the lowly grunt work. Gets his hands dirty so to speak. The brawn is almost completely unnecessary. He’s only there to put the plan into action, you see. If the brains were a little stronger, he wouldn’t need the brawn at all.”

“Huh” was all I said.

“That’s how it is.”

“But if you’re the brains and I’m the brawn—”

“But nothing.”

“How come—”

“How come what?”

“How come I’m always the one who decides where we should go? And how come you’re always the one who actually sets the fire?” It seems to me like it was actually the other way around from how Prisoner X said it was. That I was really the brains, and he was the brawn. Not that it took much muscle to light a lighter, but you know what I mean.

I guess Prisoner X didn’t have anything to say to that cause he didn’t say anything to it.

Pretty soon we got where we were going.

The next part I can’t tell you about in full detail. The feeling of returning to a home in which you no longer live is impossible to describe to those who have never experienced it.

“You sure this is the place?” Prisoner X asked.

I was sure. But my sureness got caught in my throat and I just remained silent.

We were at the site of our next wrongdoing. We were standing near the porch. Someturkey else lived here now. I felt like a ghost. One who couldn’t let go.

I just looked at the still and peaceful house. For the first time in forever, I thought about my friends. The ones who had tried to kill me. And everyone else, who probably would’ve tried to kill me too if they didn’t avoid me like one might avoid a cockroach. I thought about my mom and my dad. How could I not, now that I had come all the way back here? I had come full circle. Even now, I could feel my face turning red with shame. I was on fire. Then, and now. Burning. Awful. My friends, my parents, everyone I knew, everyone who hated me — none of them even had to say anything. They didn’t even have to be here. They didn’t even have to be alive to remind me of what I was to them. What I was to everyone. What I would always be. I felt ashamed. I felt hot and feverish. And then, like I was on fire. Broiling alive. Insides bubbling and boiling and skin sizzling and frying and everything smoldering. As if I were being eaten alive by some hellbound beast or engulfed by the ugly heat-scream of a dying sun, a supernova unleashing its infernal evil into the unknown nothingness. I was a turkey trapped in an oven, roasting.

For the first time since we escaped, I thought about Number 108 and what became of him.

Throat burning. Sweat dripping. Brain pounding. “Hey, Prisoner X,” I whispered, so quiet I was surprised he even heard me.

“What?”

“Did you know that it is possible to catch on fire and not realize it until you are practically already dead?”

I wasn’t dead yet.

In the pitch black and the total silence, I felt Prisoner X put the lighter in my hand. I looked at him. He looked at me. “I think you better do this one.”

Interrogation

“So you did start the fire. Both of you did. Most of the time Prisoner X, and this time you.” My interrogator was calm but self assured.

“No. I didn’t start the fire.”

Testimony

Our next target was very nostalgic for Prisoner X. Of the many acts of arson we committed, this was the only one whose location he decided. Everything was just like I remembered it. I guess even the turkeys were incapable of fixing this big of a human fuckup. What we create outlasts us. What we created was waste.

Me and Prisoner X were lying down next to each other. Faceup this time. The familiar hills of trash felt good, nice and cool against my skin.

“Hey, Prisoner X,” I said, “remember what you told me before we escaped? How you know something the turkeys want to know and how you’d never tell them?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it?”

Prisoner X sighed. “You know, I was supposed to be rich.”

“Rich?”

“Yeah. But instead of paying me my dues, they locked me up right alongside you. Turkeys did.”

“Oh.”

Without warning, Prisoner X screamed violently into the stillness and the cold of the night. “AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Lousy birds!!! Lying, flightless freaks!!! Forty years!! Forty goddam years!! Wasted…”

For a while, I could hear Prisoner X sobbing softly.

Then a long silence.

Prisoner X broke it: “Because fire. Because electricity. It’s all the same. Plasma. Sublime. Divine. That’s His essence. And that’s how we find Him. How we surpass Him.”

“Who?”

“Keep up.” He sniffled. “I’m answering that stupid question you asked me before.”

He stood up.

I thought. Stupid question from before? Oh.

“Number 1. You’re talking about Number 1.”

He was facing away from me. He stretched his arms out wide. It was a clear night. “All of this. Everything up till now. The fires. All those experiments. Even the one on your stupid dog. All of it. It’s all just been practice.”

“Practice?”

“Practice.”

“For what?”

“For my war with God.”

After that we did what we came there to do and fled to safety. I recall I had a rare night of sound sleep. When I woke up, Prisoner X was gone. I don’t know where he went. I don’t ever want to meet him again, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how. I guess if he’s still out there, somewhere, still alive and ancient and still stuffed full with hate, then, well, I guess then he’s winning his war, isn’t he?

As for me, I was glad he had disappeared, frankly. Because I was stuffed full with something too. Even after all these years, my old tendencies had refused to change. By that point, I had been holding it in for a good 40 years. Prisoner X out of the picture and alone at last, I could finally go Number 1.

Interrogation

“Disgusting detail aside,” Marvin told me, “you must understand that everything you’re telling me counts as legal testimony… ? That what you have to say is a sworn truth? That this is a plain admission of guilt?”

“No.”

“Say it,” he said.

I didn’t say it.

“Say you started the fire.”

I didn’t start the fire.

Testimony

Exactly where does the truth end and the lies begin?

The others were just fires. This next one was the fire. This was where they found me. Where I got recaptured.

Now I was all alone. I knew what I needed to do next. There was only one option available to me. To go back to the beginning. Back to where all of this started. Where it really started. Consider it my curtain call, if you like. Back then, I played a tree. Now, I could see the forest. I could even burn it down if I wanted to.

I did want to.

Who would burn down a school?

Who in their right mind would burn down a school?

I don’t know. Did you know that it is possible to catch on fire and not realize it until you are practically already dead?

I don’t know where the lies end and the truth begins.

You want the truth? Fine. I’ll tell you the truth.

The truth is I didn’t start the fire.

All I did was keep it going.