So sparklers.
They scare the living daylights out of me. Probably because they scarred me...literally.
It all started one Halloween night. I was in grade 2, so sevenish? I don't remember what I was dressed up as that year- but it was probably pretty epic as my mom was pretty creative with costume designs.
I lived/still live on a pretty awesome street. Everyone used to know each other and after everyone had made the rounds for candy collection we would all go to the top of the street to the rich peoples house where there was a soiree and fireworks.
I was standing beside the bonfire roasting a marshmallow when a lady leaned over me with a fistful of unlit sparklers. She lit them in the fire and as she was leaning back to hand them to whoever was behind me she dropped a few on my head.
I freaked.
Duh.
They burnt right down to my scalp, luckily only left a small burn and didn't even scab but it did leave an embarrassing bald patch on my head.
Its funny, I didn't really blame the lady for much. I remember re-telling the story to my pals at school the next day and saying that the sparklers were evil. My story got more and more dramatic and by the end of the day I had convinced myself that the sparklers had leaped out of the stupid woman's hand and were aiming to bore right through my skull to set my brain on fire.
Therefore, every time I see the fire spitting devils I instinctively check behind me for a lady with butterfingers; the keeper of the sparklers of death.
The End.
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