It was a clear summer day at my grandparent’s house about half a score ago, and being kids, naturally my cousin, my sister and I were scavenging for things to do. Then suddenly… BAM! My cousin gets this excellent idea.
So we went into her drawer and retrieved this beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak and boring afternoon. After doing so, we wandered outside where the sun was at its highest. Prime time for us to destroy what we were convinced was an ant-like menace, with all the obligation of a savior for humanity, bent on bringing these infidels to their fiery doom.
After a few initial tests to try and perfect the angle at which these creatures would burn best on my grandma’s front walkway, which was quickly turning into a graveyard for ant carcasses, my cousin did something that would soon plant an idea in my head, ultimately causing an innocent activity to take a deadly turn for the worst.
I thought this was the coolest thing ever. My cousin, the beast, burning stuff just because he FELT LIKE IT, and then stomping it out like it was no big deal. As a kid, this was the most admirable and manly thing I had ever witnessed. Then, my cousin and my sister decided that they had enough with burning things, and they wanted to play with the frisbee, so they left to go fetch it.
I however, had tasted the drug. I was addicted now. I had to be as cool as him. I had to prove myself worthy.
If they hadn’t left that magnifying glass behind, if they had just taken it with them, this whole scenario would’ve been avoided. But alas, it was too late. Fate had kissed my cheek, only to ram its finger in my ass.
I picked up my weapon, and went on the hunt for a chlorophyllic victim to cast into the same pit as those ants.
And then I saw it, laid before me in almost godly perfection. The ideal leaf for burning. So crispy and baked by the sun’s brutal heat and sticking out of the patch of dry pine needles that my grandma used in her front garden. I had to have it. It was mine now.
I readied my magnifying glass and hovered it over the leaf, adjusting it accordingly to meet the angle of fiery pain. The leaf ignited, and adrenaline swept through me in waves. I was Laura, God of the Flames, annihilator of the leaves. I had experienced pure joy. But now, sadly, it was time to stomp out my creation.
In all of my adolescent excitement, though, I had forgotten one crucial thing: I was wearing sandals. I tried to stomp it out anyway, but panic overtook me as the flames got bigger. For every time I would go to stomp it out, the flames would touch my bare foot, and I would retract.
Soon, the beast had touched the dry pine needles, and almost instantaneously spread to my grandma’s pride Begonia bushes. Even worse, it had spread to the half dead small tree, and soon I was confronted by what resembled one of the giant walls of hell.
I stood there, paralyzed by the issue at hand, when I started yelling.
“GUYS, GUYS, COME HELP, I NEED HELP!!!!!!!”
Pretty soon I heard them running, when my cousin, Frisbee in hand, stopped and stared at the mess I had made.
“LAURA, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?!”
The next five minutes were spent trying to quench the fire, by absolutely sprinting back and forth from the kitchen to the garden with bowls of water. I was never athletically inclined, but in that moment I’m pretty positive that Usain Bolt couldn’t have kept up with me.
After about ten trips to the kitchen, I noticed that there was, indeed, a hose in my grandma’s garden. By this time the flames were actually dying out, and my cousin was beating them with the Frisbee. I picked up the hose, closed my eyes, and just let it flow. When I opened my eyes, I saw the charred remains of half of my grandma’s garden, two very soaked and unhappy people, and no flames. I was relieved. But since I had started the chaos, I was going to have to be the one to tell our grandma.
My grandma, sitting in her chair reading the newspaper and unsuspecting of the news I was about to lay on her, seemed relatively calm. My cousin and sister watched from behind the doorframe as I hopped onto my grandma’s lap and started it off.
“Grandma…”
“Yes, dear?” she replied, as she laid her newspaper down.
“You love me, right?”
“Of course I do sweetie, is something wrong?”
That’s when I started to tell her, and witnessed her face turn from sweet unwavering love to twisted horror, as I explained what had happened to her garden. She got up, and made me follow her outside, and I could feel the weight of the guilt crushing my soul.
When she feasted her eyes on the remnants of her garden, her face turned to stone. The only words that escaped her lips were piercing, almost heartbreaking, as she said:
“You… are never allowed… to touch my magnifying glass… ever again..”
