The Bus Stop

09: Fires

A/N: there is a happy author's note at the end of this chapter :) Happy reading!

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  If you have ever set your pancakes on fire, you would know the incident goes something like this:  It occurs on the one morning when all you want to do is eat your favourite flavour of pancakes.  Maybe you've just spent practically your whole night up thinking about a fight between you and your best friend, the same friend you were beginning to notice under a different light.  Maybe the cute boy's name is Max and because of the guilt caused by your fight, he decided to cook you breakfast.  And maybe Max Elliot isn't capable of making pancakes, or any food for that matter.  Maybe you just forgot about that minor detail because you were under the spell of his ocean, blue eyes.

You would know that the pancakes were burning before you saw them, too.  You would smell the suffocating smoke and catch a brief glimpse of a dangerous flame, but you might shrug it off because you were too busy gawking at your best friend's adorable apology and his dreamy eyes.

Well here's a piece of advice I would give to anyone who ever has to be put into this situation:  Do not - I repeat, do not - for the life of you, ignore the big, orange flame. Chances are, your entire house could be put at risk and you could very well burn your pinky finger.  Please, for the love of God, snap out of your trance and get rid of the flame as soon as possible.  Otherwise, expect the inevitable consequences.

In my case, those consequences were incredibly painful.

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Max turned around swiftly, his entire body tensing as he saw the gigantic, orange flame bouncing around on top of the chocolate chip pancakes.  If the flame wasn't positioned in my house, on top of my breakfast, I might have gone as far as to stop to take a picture.  The small fire's crackling flames filled with a combination of oranges, yellows and reds were nothing far from majestic.

However, this flame could very well be the end of my home so I had no interest in doing anything but putting it out.

"What the hell do we do?"  Max yelled, looking back at me with the same look of horror that I was sure was plastered across my face, too.

I didn't know what to say because I hadn't the single idea of what to do.  I had always been a clumsy person and everyone knows; clumsy people and a burning fire do not mix well, ever.

The panic that was gnawing away at my levels of sanity was causing my thoughts to become foolish and within one, fast motion, I had surged forwards to grab a broom that was lying beside the fridge.  I took the broom in my hand, using it to attempt to pat the fire out, only, it caught on fire too.

I screamed, mainly because I had lost any scraps of courage I held a moment ago and the fact that I was now holding a wooden object, on fire.  My attempts to blow the outrageous fire out like a birthday candle were very unsuccessful and soon enough, I found myself very out of breath and lightheaded.

"Jesus, Max, your cooking was worse then I thought!"  A voice yelled from behind us, causing my entire body to jump in shock and consequently the broom slipped from my grasp and landed directly onto my pinky finger.

I screamed again, instantly pushing the broom onto the ground and running my hand under the kitchen sink, the pain was so excruciatingly painful that I felt as if I was going to vomit.  Tears were stinging at the edges of my eyes, my lungs were filling up with an unwanted amount of smoke and soon enough I found myself sliding against the kitchen cupboards to sit on the floor.  I could hear the cracking of the fire, but louder then anything else was the pounding of my heart as it pumped at an unsteady rhythm.