Of the fiery heat.

I have very vague memories of my childhood.

I did remember our house catching a fire - once. It had been caused by the lightning, and I remember sparks. Heat. More lightning. Rushing out in the rain. The firetruck arriving at our doorstep.

There was no fear, I had been too young for that.

But that had been it. And after that, I had never seen the huge flames again.

I dream about them sometimes. Fire, heat, flames, and the screams - but there's not too much details. I refuse to think about them, and I refuse to remember anything more than that.

And then of all things, I saw the huge flames again - but this time, it was near the Taman Bahagia LRT Station - and yeah, I was seventeen. Wait, eighteen this year, but that's not the poin. It was almost ten at night, and my family was on the way to visit some relatives.

No, the flames weren't as large as one would see from a movie - but they weren't small either, definitely. They peaked, they burnt - they rose as high as the nearby buildings. I wasn't sure what was it that caused the flames, but they were burning near cars - near two very flammable cars that probably had oil inside, which could cause a very movie-like explosion. And the thick smoke was ascending upwards - towards the LRT tracks. Now, I had no idea what the hell smoke could do towards LRT tracks - it could be as dangerous to the tracks as a pea-fly is to a cow, or it could be like some cracked-up shit that could potentially diss everyone's asses. Right.

An, oh, no one was around.

Do you know what the shittiest thing was? It was the fact that no one wanted to help. My parents and brother commented on the flames, and then we were speeding off again. They were looking at the flames nonchalantly, as if it wasn't any of their business. At that moment, I felt angry - as angry as I felt when people betrayed me, which wasn't really a laughing matter. Point is, the fact that no one wanted to help pissed me off, immensely.

And so I took out my phone, and dialed 999.

Someone answered at the second ring - someone who could barely speak English at all. But the most shocking thing was what the lady said when she picked up.

"Yes, Ms. Lim Li Anne?"

And that was when I realized that she was sending me an unspoken message. By telling me that she knew my name, she was also saying this - "We know your name through your mobile number, so if you pull any shit pranks, we can arrest you. Or do something that would make you piss your pants."

Hell.

So, with broken BM, I haltingly explained the situation. She hummed a little, and told me she would put me through to the firemen.

And these firemen had no idea how to speak a proper English sentence as well, so again I had to whip out my horrible BM. And the person speaking to me seemed skeptical. He even took the time to ask me really silly questions - like, how big the fire was, for instance. I wanted to bash his face in with a jackhammer, but instead, I told him - in a very sarcastic manner - that the fire was big enough for me to make a call. That seemed to have done the trick, for he then told me that the bomba squad would be on the way.

And that was all I could do. Throughout the visit at the relative's house, I could only pace around and wonder what was going on back there. I tried my best to engage in some conversation, but I found myself growing more and more worried. That, and some nasty part in my mind was telling me some pretty screwed up shit.

I found myself asking myself why I wanted to help in the first place. My house wasn't nearby, and hey - it wasn't I who had caused the flames - so why did I have to help? Plus, not to mention, I had always prided myself as being a ruthless person when it came to issues like that. Hadn't the thought of mass-killing crossed my mind before? Hadn't I wished that the whole world would just explode into flames a few years ago? So, hey...if people died, I should have been happy. If things get destroyed, I should have been happy. In that case, why did I instinctively get help when bloody destruction was happening? Hadn't destruction itself been what I wanted?

Yeah. I was pretty messed up as a teenager, I knew. Somehow, the effects still lingered on until today. Whatever. Those were the thoughts of me a few years ago, not today. So I just shrugged, telling my mind to shut the hell up. I wasn't going to wish for anyone's death anymore - not unless they wished for mine, first.

By the time we passed by that spot on the way home, we realized that the flames were out - and nothing worse had happened. I didn't feel relieved, just irritated (for some strange reason) and dispassionate about it. So the firemen did come, after all. In that case, things were all good - and there was nothing more to be worried about.

From the way the lady and the fireman grilled me with their questions, I knew I had been the first one to file a report. I wonder what would have happened if I didn't? Perhaps someone else would have done it instead. I began wondering whether I had overreacted - and now, looking back, perhaps I had.

Perhaps I remember the house being on fire, and decided that I didn't want anything like that to happen again.

Perhaps it was just a bloody reflex action. No thoughts required, no explanations needed.

Until now, it remains a mystery.

Twelve more days.

I have new hauls. New headphones, mini speakers, and an iPod nano. I'll blog about that - later.

And all I want for Valentines is...