An arsonists cookbook

Chapter 3: Emile Kovač

Originally a Czechoslovakian exchange student, Emile had only planned to stay in America for a few weeks on a school program, however, his family, and of course himself, loved LA. They found the culture fascinating, the music amazing but one thing that didn't make them ecstatic was the food. In their hometown all food was homemade, to keep with a village tradition. His village was a small snowy town in the north of Czechoslovakia, Blaschim was its name. A was quite a mountainous area with many frozen lakes in the winter. He missed the open air of his home country. He didn't care to much about friends because the truth was he had none. He was a loner. He didn't care much for social interaction, not even with his brother.

Emile and his brother Matyáš had been quite close up until they moved to LA. He was his only friend so when Matyáš decided to go and make himself popular, Emile was left behind in the shadow of his brother. Matyáš is 18 and Emile is only 14 but the whole of Emile's life had been darkened by the success of his brother. From a young age Matyáš had been a extremely talented artist, anything anyone requested he drew. His work has been hung in museums all across his home country and he was known as 'Matyáš Kovačzázračné dítě' or in translation to English 'Matyáš Kovač the child prodigy'. Emile was always known as his brother not Emile. When their family moved to America, Emile thought it as chance to change his life for the better and become popular. Matyáš beat him to it. Emile was deeply saddened by the thought he would never be noticed and that he would never be as well-known as his star of a brother.

On this particular cold morning, he sat up in bed and looked around he small attack room for something to do. It was the Christmas break so there was no school, this left him bored. He inspected his desk from afar. He watched the specks of dust dance around his computer. He looked as the condensation on the windows trickled. He was about to lie back down when he heard his mother beckon his brother and himself for breakfast. He slowly stumbled his way down the ladder and through to the kitchen which lay at the bottom of a steep set of birch stairs. His brother was not far behind. They sat at their usual spots at the table as their father sat at the top, reading that day's newspaper. His father was a tall and large man who's shoulders were like bridges. He had sky blue eyes and sliver hair which he combed over. His eyes matched that of Matyáš, he never failed to mention at every family gathering. Emile had hazel eyes, much like his mother. They always had a special bond which was constantly broken by his father. Matyáš was served his usual traditional Czechoslovakian breakfast, whereas Emile was served two slices of slightly uncooked toast. Emile sighed as he took his first bite. His mother sat down and the table and began eating her toast also. Their family was quite rich, due to the fame of Matyáš of course. They lived in a three story house which came with four bathrooms; two upstairs and two down, 4 bedrooms; one for Emile, one for Matyáš, one for their parents and one for guests and last but not least a giant two acre garden; which was well tended to by the garden staff. Matyáš excused himself and left to get changed. His art scholarship still required him to work through the Christmas break. His plate was left on the table, Emile finished and took his own plate and Matyáš into the kitchen and placed them into the dishwasher.

He proceeded to walk up the stairs to the bathroom, he opened up the mirrored cabinet above the porcelain sink and took out a small pharmaceutical container of pills. He opened the container and took out a single bullet shaped cylinder. He then put it down onto the rim of the sink, carefully balancing it. He closed the container and returned it to its normal resting place. He then took out a small shot glass sized cup out of the cabinet before closing the door and looking at his reflection in the mirror. His hazel eyes darted around as he attempted to match his proletariat look to his bourgeois lifestyle. He had curly and messy blonde mop top which fell just at the shoulders of his plain black t-shirt. His chequered baggy pj pants dropped down low over his size 10 feet. His feet matches his size, 6'1. For being only fourteen this was extraordinary. He filled the small cup with water from the tap. He put the pill on his tongue. Go back to being plastic. He thought as he sealed the pill with the help of the water. He closed his eyes as he felt the pill ride down his throat atop of the arctic liquid he had just swallowed. He walked back to his rooms ladders climber up them and closed the trap door to his room behind him. He sat and stared at his computer screen for about thirty minutes before doing anything. He was zoned out, the pills always made him feel like this. He wish he could drink because one of his friends online told him it helps. He had tried many times to try and smuggle alcohol into the house but each time Matyáš caught him, he never told anyone though. He always just said it was his.

Emile logged onto his computer as he heard his brother leave downstairs. He began to talk to all of his internet friends. He scrolled throughout the Internet, looking for cool facts. The Internet was just beginning to evolve in 1999 so it wasn't much use looking. It always crashed. He sat looking at various pages and continued to do so for hours and hours.