Scars (essay)

            It all started a couple years ago, on the most chilling and darkest of nights in October.

            I can still smell the crisp night air, it was Halloween night and the moon was full. The smell of lit candles filled me with warm sensation. I was walking into the backyard of my sister’s boyfriend’s house. I was wearing the most breath taking angel costume that I bought downtown. The mini beads glittered in the moonlight; the sound of my heels clicking on the sidewalk. I could see children in costumes running back and forth playing a game of tag. I joined them, chasing someone in a scream costume.

            Moments past and a costume contest approached. They were calling the names of the children as one by one they all came up. The audience voted on the scariest, the coolest, and the cutest. Sadly I did not win this year, but I congratulated those who did. Next we were all taking turns and adding parts to create the most awesome scary story ever. My turn soon came up; my words were “ate zombie fingers.” The children who heard me chuckled.

            The smell of food and candy filled the air. We all walked in the undercover part of the porch. Candles were on the ledges of the windows. Decorations covered the entire room. There was a small rectangular table in the corner in the back of the room. On the table were delicious witch fingers and mummy toes. After eating I got quite thirsty. The party was slowly coming to an end, so I decided to get a quick drink. I walked back under the covered porch and walked right over to the punch bowl. There was a small candle on the window ledge right next to the bowl of sweet apple cider.

            After I grabbed a cup and filled it, I stepped to the side. Seconds later I felt a burning pain on my left arm. I ignored it for a couple of seconds, but then the longer I ignored it, the worst it felt. I couldn’t take the pain anymore; I was quite curious to what was causing the pain. I turned my head to look at my arm, and staring at me was a bright yellow flame roaring at me. Instant panic filled my scared body. I didn’t know what to do. The only thought that was entering my head was how do I get this fire out and fast. It’s funny, as a child they teach you tat when you are on fire to stop-drop-and-roll, but when you are actually on fire, it never occurs to you. So instead I started slapping my arm, slapping the fire. I started spinning in circles, making sure I got it all. My little sister was looking at me quite funny. “Is it out,” was all I could say to her. She continuously asked me, “What, what?” “The fire!” I was yelling in fear at this point, I didn’t want to die. Not yet at least. She looked all over, and she shook her head. I relaxed a bit, yet I was still very shaky.

            Ever since that one unforgetful night; I have not been able to get near candles or fires at all. Each year I do ease a little, but it still reminds me of it. Once in a while I can still feel the pain on my arm, I quickly check just to make sure that nothing is there. The scar on my arm still gives me chills. I hate living with this ugly scar. I don’t like to remember. Sometimes forgetting is a lot better than remembering.