You know, today I bought a lighter, a Varaflame Ronson.
You know the brand?
I think everbodies father had one, so did mine.
I was about 6 or so and he got one. A nice shiny silver one.
I woke up early one day and took it from the living room into my room. We had some sort of 'grass' flooring, typical for hippies at that time [think early 70's]
Somehow I managed to set it alight.
Everybody is a sleep, my 4 year old sister, my parents: everybody in my whole wide world.
The room starts filling up with smoke, heat, flames and a one scared boy: moi.
I used the same trick as I still do:
“Dear Lord, let me survive this now and I know that in the future I will pay back humanity!”
Suddenly I moved to the hallway, my mother always left two glasses of water there for when we would wake up early. I took them and threw them in the fire. My feet and some other stuff took care of the remaining fire.
...
A couple of minutes [or hours?] my parents woke up, smelled the smoke, saw the hole and realized very quickly what had happened and who started it all.
Never mind who stopped it, but they knew all right who started it.
The punishment I got for that was something that... I cherished. I loved it, for I was a live! And so where they. I knew I had something to make up to, but I also knew that there was nothing in the world what could kill me until I was ready.
And today I bumped into one of those lighters. And now I own one.
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten