The arsonist is a humble man, and he never really needed any help with doing what he does. Never really understood the point of making friends if they were all going to die anyways.
But sometimes, some people are too good to not befriend.
(That was...
It was another Monday morning, another beginning, a fresh start in the town of Salem. The best part of the first day was that nobody was dead yet.
The town's roosters cried in unison, and the light song of the morning bells rang throughout the town, signifying the beginning of the day.
A few of the village's inhabitants slowly and sleepily shuffled their way into the town plaza, an overall friendly place where everyone gathered at each morning. In the center of it was the executioning platform, where culprits would stand to be hung if they were accused of bringing harm to the small suburb. However, today there were no leads or suspects, for there were no murders. It was the most peaceful day to ever grace upon Salem.
Many knew that it wouldn't last for long.
Among this multitude, was the Arsonist.
He slid out of his sun-flecked bed and effortlessly threw on a dull jacket and loose sweatpants he had lying around nearby, slung a brown purse around his shoulders, and searched through the compact cabinet of his nightstand for a sturdy beige paper that shall contain his will. At last he retrieved the sheet and tucked it tidily into the purse, along with a sleek fountain pen.
The man didn't care much about giving out a satisfactory first impression. In fact, he didn't care much about the townspeople altogether. But he knew that if he were to stay inside all day and only come out at night, the corrupt town would barge through his door and kill him instantly.
He trudged into the bathroom and ruffled his ebony hair. Ash and soot waft down onto the sink like little black snowflakes on a white canvas. He then turned on the faucet and splashed his face in one swift motion, his skin flushing a shade lighter. He was ready.
"Good morning, Firebug!"
"Hello, townies! Hello, Firebug!"
"How is everyone today?"
Everyone was chattering away happily, oblivious to the bloodbaths that lay for them in the future.
"Hey, Firebug! Remember me? I'm Murr!"
Firebug averted his gaze to a rather squirrely-looking man in a brown coat. Of course he remembered Murr the nitwit, everyone did. "I was the Sheriff in our old town...well, at least I tried to be!" It was astounding that he wasn't dead yet. Firebug silently nodded, perching himself on the nearest bench and surveying the town. Someone slid by, handing him a pale brown paper with some names on it.
"Hello there...Firebug, is it? I am your town's mayor! I see you're new here!" The two were silent, Firebug unamused. "Ha, get it? We're all new, because this town was recently repopulated after the previous massacre!" The man pointed to the paper. "Anyways, here's a list of the townies and their house numbers, as tradition. My name is Bridger- John Bridger -your Mayor! Looking forward to getting to know you better!" John eagerly shook Firebug's hand and rushed away to hand out more papers.
"What an idiot," Firebug murmured to himself, scanning the list. "What kind of a Mayor would reveal himself on the first day?"
"Me," responded Murr, smiling enthusiastically. Firebug's frown deepened, not looking up as Murr giggled. "Okay, see you, I'm going to meet other townies!" The man breezed away.
"Goodbye." The grudge Firebug held on John for being dumb slipped from his mind as he read the list. The house numbers were listed down by the left side, the names next to them, and a blank on the right for any notes, where he liked to record roles. He reached for his pen and glanced up from the paper.
"Murr," he called out, although not too loudly as to not draw attention. Murr scurried over immediately.
"Yes?"
"What is your role?" Firebug located his name on the sheet.
"Oh! I'm the Investigator now!" The arsonist took note. Poor guy must still be convinced that he's the Transporter rather than the Arsonist.
"Okay, Murr. Thank you," he said, dismissing him with a brisk wave. Firebug looked over his new list.
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There were some strange names, but not as much as the usual amount. He scanned the area one last time.
By tomorrow, some of the people on this list would die, so Firebug reminded himself to not grow attached to anyone here.
******
Hours seemed to breeze by, the town endlessly talking to each other, friendships forming, loners shunning off to have some alone time. Then there was one man with neatly combed brown hair in a white suit who always bore a glimmering smile that just seemed to scream, "I am probably the most charismatic man in the world." He was hitting it off with the Mayor effortlessly.
"Hello there, sir! I'll be your Mayor."
"Mayor? Ah, great, just the man I needed to see!" The man flashed a grin. They shook hands, and he leaned over to whisper in John's ear. Firebug was close enough to observe the interaction, but could not decipher the man's whisper to Bridger.
"Oh my, how...brave of you! Well, I'd better be off! See you, Dexter!" John skipped away to prepare to speak before night falls.
"Nice meeting ya, Mr. Mayor," replied the man, now identified as Dexter, chuckling to himself.
What's his problem? Why is he so happy? Firebug's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sharp feedback of a microphone. Everyone looked towards the Mayor, standing in the center of the Square, next to the lynching platform.
"Hello there, town of Salem! I look forward to a peaceful night! Don't forget to stay safe and contribute to the town! Do not lose your last will!" John laughed. "Anyways," continued Bridger, "we will hope for no deaths tonight. Remember to tell me your role sometime, and report any suspicious behavior to me as well." He let out a deep breath, looking accomplished. "Thank you, and good night."
He stepped away and casually strolled to a small crowd gathering, a bunch of scared new people who didn't know Salem was Murder Central. The low hum of people mingling with each other returned. Firebug looked back at Dexter, who was staring at the Mayor. He was not smiling, but he didn't look angry, rather puzzled. He was thinking hard. Firebug rolled his eyes and smirked. Probably questioning John's authority even after he revealed. A yawn emerged from deep inside of himself, driving him to go to Murr and tap him on the back.
"Hey. That guy over there's selling some lemonade, want some?" Firebug asked nervously.
"Sure! I know that cheap stuff like that'll disappear after the first murder," Murr snorted. Firebug faked a smile to encourage him, and went off to get a few drinks with an old pal, before he was, no doubtedly, slaughtered into tiny talkative pieces by a killer.
