I'm the firestarter, twister firestarter.
When I was but a wee lad of eleven, myself and a mate named Gary were tight like a tiger's anus. I mean, you couldn't forcibly insert a pin in there with a tonne of industrial strength lube. Well, I imagined so at the time.

Anyway, we thought it'd be pretty cool to set fires. You know, deep down inside I had this feeling I could control the fire. Pyrokinesis like. I dunno. Maybe I watched too much TV. This was long before the days of X-men movies, and comics were teh suk, so I'm not too sure where the idea came from.

Anyway, at the time money was tight for my mother and that, so we spent a few months in My Nan and Grandad's house, and god bless my Grandad, but he draweres stacked full of matches and cigarettes. So, pinching a bog-roll and a box of matches, meself and Gary set off to the little patch of trees behind Acorn Downs. Where, unravelling all of the bog roll and making a little ditch, we set a little fire.

We found some dry grass then, and put that on too. It was a fairly hot summer, and that got burning rather well. We found some dry wood then, and put that on too, and I don't know how, because it's never happened since, but that began burning too. Then we found some deodorant or possibly wood polish, but it came in a spray can, and this was just sitting in a field, so we sprayed this stuff out into it's lid, until it liquified and gave us a nice little pool of polish or whatever it was at the bottom. We then threw this on, and it practically exploded.

This, for us at the time, was fucking amazing. So we set off to find more of thise kind of stuff, and started collecting it in our trouser pockets and jumper sleeves.

By the time we got back to these trees, a couple of them were on fire. We fucking legged it back home, the long way round, which is about three miles. When I got home, my nan was there, and she told there had been a fire and, before she could go on, there was a knock on the door I had just entered through.

Gary's mother was there, and she promptly told my nanny; "Our Gary saw your Alex with matches and toilet paper. He just told me. He's at home now, resting. The thought of fire got him all nervous. I think he's phobic."

Little fucking cunt. Apparantly there was some damage to property done, and the trees were 'scarred for life'. Gary's mother promised to keep shtum, but my Nan happily told my mother, and that woman is fierce.

I wasn't allowed out for month ala the amazing american concept of 'grounding'. I didn't even rat him out then, which I should have. After that though, the toilet paper started being fucking monitered, as did the matches. But it didn't stop me from setting fires. I just became a bit of a recluse whilst doing so. Never got to speak to Gary much after that. He started hanging around with my little brother.Mind you, I've got quite a few nice stories of camraderie. That do somewhat involve fires, but not much. I'll post another up later.

Sorry about girth and length, and for not bothering to use that grammar thing.
(ackles I set your baby on fire., Fri 28 Jul 2006, 14:10, Reply)