tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post7312538814488925803..comments2023-11-05T01:33:56.300-08:00Comments on The Well Fed Muse: Writing Prompt: Your Inner ChildWriting Padhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08457445478510415827noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-58729160571134309182013-09-18T22:08:06.852-07:002013-09-18T22:08:06.852-07:00I crouched down in my bell bottom, brown corduroy ...I crouched down in my bell bottom, brown corduroy jeans, and felt the hard pebbles press into my knees. I leaned forward and touched the white paint on the side of my childhood home. My best friend, Kim, was kneeling next to me. It was sunny and warm outside, as it usually was during late spring in my central California hometown. I couldn't see my parents or uncle in the garage, but could hear their voices, talking about my dad's latest car purchase. Kim and I looked at each other, smiling as we both realized that the coast was clear. I reached into my back pocket, and pulled out a box of matches. I opened the box, gently pulled out a match stick and closed the box. I touched the end of the match stick ever so lightly on the side of the box. I looked at Kim. She caught my eye. We both let out a quiet giggle. At seven years old, we knew the dangers of matches. But our curiosity got the best of us - we just had to see what would happen. I looked down at the match box, hesitated for a second and quickly struck the match alongside the box. A tiny gold spark shot out and grew into a small yellow and orange flame. I held the match in front of my face, going cross eyed as I moved the flame closer to my nose. I looked again at Kim. "Come on," she said, "before they come." When I realized my family was still talking about the dumb car, I leaned forward and touched the flame on the side of the wood paneling of our family home. The flame left a small black burn, but quickly died out. Kim exclaimed, "Try again!" I pulled out another match and struck it on the side of the match box. I held the flame closer to my eyes, fascinated by its movement and color yet terrified of its power. Just as I brought the match down to set fire to our family home, I heard my uncle, in a very tense voice, "Jennifer! What are you doing?!?" I blew out the match and looked up at my uncle. Out loud, I said, "oh no." Inside, I thought, "oh crap."Jen Moranoreply@blogger.com