"Describe your first brush with danger."
I think i was about 4 or five. i remember sitting in my dads computer room, looking around in just pure curiosity. I was so small, and the strange stacks of electronics, and part just made me so excited. the room smelt like dust and electricity. i was sitting on the other side of this wall, my father working diligently on some kind of device. there was a fan hitting him, and i happened to be on the other side. he got hot easily, he would say. Especially when working. As i sat, a touched the grey carpet, i was tempted to touch a tower, but decided not to. what if it fell over? my eyes wondered, then they landed on something small i hadn't noticed. A match book. i opened it, and was marveled to see it was full- all except for one. i ran my thumb over them, and gave a small smile. i tugged one out, my little heart pounding,i glanced at my dad. His head was still bowed over his work, the occasionional 'shoot' mumbled in anger.
I looked at the piece of cardboard, with that flammable flint, and gave a bigger grin. i ran it over the strike pad slowly, and scowled. Why hadn't it lit? in anger i struck it harder. nothing. on the last try i struck it, and the flame burst, scaring me half to death. i dropped it quickly, and stared at the flame, fixated. My dads head popped up, and he looked around. "Honey? Are you cooking?" he yelled out.
"No!" my mom yelled back, so he stood to see me staring at the small growing flame. he immediately stomped it out. "are you ok?!" he towered over me, and looked at the carpet and sighed.
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