And Then There Was Nothing. {discontinued}

3% (candle light)

Six years ago, my favorite activity to do when I got bored was light a candle, let it burn, and dip my fingertips in the hot wax. I did it almost everyday. My mom hated when I did it; she was afraid I'd get burned. But I never did, at least until one day. And, of course, I never realized that this would be the start of it all.

The yellow glow of the candle bounced around me in the cold, dark air. I sat on my favorite bench, the one where I did everything. Mom was somewhere in the woods behind it, picking berries (which was what she told me). The night was falling. I sat for about 5 minutes, waiting for the wax to melt. And it took forever, but I didn't mind one bit.

After about 6 more minutes, a decent little melted-wax lake had settled around the flame. I pull my hair back, not wanting it to catch flame. I pull my left hand out of my pocket, extending my pointer finger to the candle. And I dunked the tip of it in the hot wax.

After just a moment, I pulled it out of the wax, waiting for it to dry. The red wax felt smooth and creamy on my finger, and I dunked it again. I kept dunking and drying my finger for a minute or two. But then a thought came to me.

'It wouldn't hurt if I touched the fire, right? Since the wax was protecting my finger?'

So I did. I touched the flame with my finger, and it barely hurt. I hardly felt the flame, so I let my finger sit there for a few seconds. And that's when I felt it.

Hot, white, searing pain scratched through me as the fire started to burn me. I shrieked loudly, yanking my hand away, and blowing the flame out. Hot tears raced down my face as my finger tingled and ached.

I hopped of the bench, quickly as possible, and dashed into the woods, looking for my mom. By the time I found her, she was in worse condition than I was. I had not noticed her scream.