Once upon a time, there was a boy. His once alive burning hair had faded, just like the ambition in his eyes. His sister especially, was fond of his hair. 'I love watching it.' she would say. 'Feels like flame in the calm breeze.' The boy looked at her puzzled. The girl smiles, pleased there was still a response from her quiet brother. She continued 'Do you remember going to camping when we were younger? We watched the campfire for hours.' The boy indeed remembered that day. Their parents was off to sleep earlier in their tent, just two 12 year old kids, watched the campfire in boredom yet in awe. Their marshmallows long forgotten. 'It looked like your hair. That fire crimson belongs to you.' The boy did not response, but his slumped position said enough. Ashamed to face his sister. The girl, with desperation now, continued talking. Bleeding to words. 'It saddens me to watch you like this brother, I plead to see your fire back.' The boy, still keeping his head low, interrupted weakly. 'Your fire.' He corrected her. 'I never had a fire, I am nothing but the wind. But sister, even the greatest flames quiets down, after destroying the big forest.' Tears began to form in little girl's eyes, leaving a burning sensation in her cheeks. 'Oh brother... for how long will I say it... It wasn't you that killed our beloved family.' As if the boy wasn't slumped enough, he made himself smaller. He wanted to avoid everything, hiding away from his tearful eyes. But where was he supposed to look? His sister that now started crying like a fountain? The sky that's surrounded in smoke? The poorly made gravestone of their parents? His hands that now carry the marking's of angry flames in that dark purple? What is the purpose of volcano, who destroyed forests and villages? Nothing, but wait to get harden with the grief and sins it carrying. Wait to be a surface for people to get close, only to end with another massacre.
