It only takes a spark

It was my earliest memory. I was five. One minute I was sprawled out on my mum's bed watching my favourite movie 'Pollyanna', and the next minute I was slumped on the Naughty Mat.

It all started when mum got into the shower and left me on her bed to watch my movie. I got bored, so I started looking around the bedroom for something to do. I knew I shouldn't have but I did.

As I was scanning the room, a little box on a table on the other side of the room caught my attention. Curiosity took over, I bounded off the bed and straggled over to where the box was perched, I grasped the toy sized box and realised it was a box of matches, I took the box and sat on mum's bed again, staring intently at the contraband. Flashbacks of my mum saying "Do not play with matches or fire ever!" were playing over and over in my mind.

Like I said, I knew I shouldn't have but I did, all because I was bored. I thought to myself that if I struck the match on the side of the box ever so delicately, surely it wouldn't spark. But I thought wrong.

The match sparked and there, right in front of my eyes was a flame, on a stick, in my hands. I froze with fear; time seemed to stop right there and then. Staring at the burning match I contemplated what I should do with it. I was in complete and utter shock. I dropped the match, embers still burning, and ran into my sister's room, bug eyed and unable to speak. Five seconds later, I heard "Jessica Anne Peters, come here!"

"Oh no, I'm in trouble" I mumbled under my breath. My sister still had no clue what was going on, confusion stained her face. I wanted to run, I wanted to hide but I knew I'd be in more trouble if I did hide. I trudged slowly back to my mums bedroom with my head hanging down and my shoulders droopy. I slowly looked up at my mums bed and there, right in the middle of it was a cavity as big as a dessert bowl, burned into my mums four hundred dollar quilt and instantly, all of my emotions had been erased from my mind and all I could feel was guilt.

I hesitantly looked up at my mum, the disappointment and sadness in her eyes glaring down at me felt like I had just been kicked in the stomach by a professional kick boxer, she said "you know what this means for you don't you?" I shrugged, "No pancakes for you!" Those four words cut deep into my soul.

And in a flash, I was sulking on the flaming red Naughty Mat in the entrance of the kitchen, my face burning with anger, while everyone else was enjoying their pancakes with maple syrup and butter, lemon and sugar, yoghurt and berries, I glanced up at my sisters smiling and having fun, eating their pancakes and slowly, I looked down at my breakfast, weet-bix, sprinkled with anger and topped with dismay.