You come across a pack of matches that sets off a series of uncanny events. Start your story with “My mother always told me not to play with fire.” End it with “And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.”
Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.
“My mother always told me to not play with fire-” Kathryne started.
“Would you just get to the point?” I interupted.
According to my phone, it was getting late, and I was getting tired. Ontop of that, there was no way in Hell that I was spending the night at her house again, not after what happened last time.
“Jesus, Penny. It was just getting good,” Matt, her ex boyfriend, winked at me.
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Instead, I shrugged, “my dad wants me,” the lie came easily.
“That’s illegal.” Matt teased.
Yeah, well, so is trying to take advantage of an underaged girl, I thought. I rolled my eyes, noticing that Kathryne was watching us closely.
“May I continue?” She said, hurt lacing her words.
“If you hurry,” I sighed, allowing my eyes to close.
Kathryne took a dramatic breath, and launched back into her tale. “My mother always told me to not play with fire. As you both know, I never did listen that well. A few summers ago, I was out camping – Matt, you remember? You were there.”
Matt and I both sighed at the same time. Did she really have to repeat this story? She’s told it so many times, and for whatever reason, it always seems to change slightly.
I was getting uncomfortable, sitting on her floor while she took up the bed, and Matt had the chair. I guess that’s what happens when one shows up late.
“Please, just get to the point,” I begged closing my eyes. “I don’t want to get grounded again.”
I would have just left, but I didn’t want the silent treatment from my only friend for God knows how long, so I sat there and tried to urge her on. Kathryne was stubborn though.
“It was in the middle of summer, and we had the camp all set up for the week. Matt had to go take a leak or something. Anyways, I was alone with the lighter in my hand, trying to get it to work so I could light the fire-” She stopped again. “Matt!” She scolded, throwing a pillow at him. “Stop staring at poor Penny.”
I opened my eyes, and sure enough, he was staring. I arched an eyebrow, but quickly sat up taller and straightened my shirt out. Matt winked at me again, and I barely surpressed a shudder.
“Anyway, I lit the fire, and went out looking for Matt, because I was lonely, and he’d been gone an awful long time. The next thing I remember, I’m waking up again and Matt’s talking me into drinking some Jack with him. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere -naked.”
My mother always told me not to play with fire. Too bad I never listen. It all started last Saturday morning. I was making breakfast and getting ready to brew a pot of coffee. When I reached for my coffee filters in the cabinet, I noticed I was out. I began to rummage through my kitchen looking for a filter or something I could substitute for one. When I started searching through the kitchen drawer, I came across a box of matches. I’m not the brightest bulb in the box before I have my morning cup of coffee so my mind was working overtime trying to keep my thought process legible. My mind wandered as I set the matches on the counter top. I remembered the candle my neighbor had given me that smelled like hazelnut so I thought if only I could smell the coffee, maybe I could make it through breakfast until I could run down to Starbucks.
I grabbed the candle from the living room and brought it into the kitchen. When I lit a match to light the candle, I became infatuated with the colors the flame was putting out. It was a bright green, a color I’ve never seen burn on a match. Before I knew it, the match had burned down to my fingers. The fire licked the tips of my fingers briefly before I dropped the match to the floor. I stomped out what little bit of flame was left on the matchstick and went to the medicine cabinet for burn ointment. Eventually, I discovered I was out of the ointment and my fingers were so sore, I knew I needed more. I turned the oven off, grabbed my jacket, and headed out to the local drug store.
The cab driver took me to the wrong address and I didn’t notice until I had already exited the cab. I had no idea where I was so I walked to the corner to get a look at the street signs. Before I reached the corner, I was approached by four fully costumed clowns. They told me where I was and explained they could help me get to the address I was looking for. The led me to their car, a very tiny car, and I insisted that we could not all fit. They explained they were clowns and their cars were much larger on the inside. I bit my lip and crawled inside.
I should have known better than to trust a car load of clowns. They took me to an abandoned area, surrounded by nothing but dirt and the occasional tumbleweed. One clown held a twig in the air and told me this was a stick up and to give them my clothes. I was afraid of being jabbed in the eye so I did as instructed. Once they had my clothes, they piled up in their tiny car and drove away. And that’s how I wound up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. Then again, my mother died when I was five years old and left my drunken father to fend for my sister, brother and I, so I never really paid her advice any mind. It wasn’t even a week after her passing when my father moved us in to a small, one-bedroom home to shack up with his mistress, chug booze to his heart’s content and leave my siblings and I to wonder how it would have been with another parent in our life. But then we just shook our heads because my mother was never really a part of our lives and certainly we wouldn’t have listened to her anyways, just as much as if she had told us it was wrong to flunk out of school, get your highschool sweetheart pregnant and never play with fire; exactly what my sister, brother and I did in that order. You could say that we were troubled, but you could also say that it was wrong to judge. That is how it is with advice; it is so contradictory. Love your neighbor but keep your enemies closer, you are what you eat but treat yourself nice, treat others how you would want to be treated but never be dependent on another…you see what I mean. That is why I never took life as seriously as everyone else. It was pointless. Just like me staying in my family any longer, so I ran away when I was just fourteen. My life has been completely pointless thus far and has gotten me nowhere.
It is funny what people recall when they are dying. That is what I am doing right now; dying. My breath is short, my vision is waving and I see a faint light on the ceiling, so I guess I am dying. It all started while I was waiting for the subway and came across a pack of cigarettes. I don’t smoke but my sister and brother do so like cows. I picked it up and rubbed my thumb across the cold, smooth box. A man then shoved me from behind and called me a few choice words. I spun around and he accused me of stealing them from him. Before I could even give them back he hit me on top of the head and beat me to the ground. I whimpered but we were the only people underground. He just kicked me over and over and started to tear at my clothes; my pencil skirt on the way to my interview and my nice matching suit-jacket from Banana Republic. I watched him suck the life out of me by his blows and then he left me in the dark, remembering heartache from the past. It is funny what people recall when they are dying. My life has been completely pointless thus far and has gotten me nowhere. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire, but I never listen to her. I mean who listens to their parents when their twelve years old. I always did the opposite of what she said; like for instance, when she told me to pick up my room I would just throw some more stuff on the ground. I mean don’t get me wrong I still loved her and did things for her, and she loved me. She was the best mother anyone could have.
“Hey put down those matches young man before you set the place on fire.” said Mom
“Aw Mom I’m not going to set the house on fire.” said Isaac
“Just do what I said.”
“Alright fine.”
Then he puts them in his pocket when his mother wasn’t looking and runs to his room.
He takes them out and is memorized at them. He took out one then started to go towards the black strip to light it. As he is about to light his mom walks in and sees him. He stays still and looks at her. Then he lights it.
“What are you doing?! Give me that.”
She swipes it from his hand and blows it out.
“You are so grounded mister. I don’t want to see you leave this room until dinner.”
She takes the rest of the matches and leaves.
“Now what will I do. I was having fun until my mom had to ruin it all for me. Well I’ll show her that I can light a match and not set the house on fire. She is so untrusting.”
He eats dinner, and then pretends he is asleep until his mother went to bed. When he sees the lights go out, he looks for the matches.
“Where are they? Hmm… oh I know.”
He goes to the trash can and finds them. He picks them up and lights one, and quickly blows it out. He then goes to his room and puts it in the trash can in his room so she wouldn’t find it. He gets in bed and falls asleep.
“Where am I, and why am I naked?”
“You’re in the hospital son your house caught on fire.” said the doctor
You guess it. The match in the trash can caught some paper on fire and lit my house up in flames. The doctor later that day told me what happened. He said I inhaled to much smoke and went unconscious. He told me that my mom went in and got me, but she had tripped and threw me out the house. They said she died in the fire. Later in my life I went to the fireman and asked him to share what happened in details. They told me they could hear her screaming in pain and that I was lucky to be alive. That is how I ended up naked and sad with no mother to love on this earth again.
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.” I looked over at him, my gaze steady and unwavering.
“Could your mother do this?” He spun the lit match up in the air and caught it again, no flame reaching his fingers. “She’d play with fire if she could,” he said after I shook my head no.
I held the box of matches in my hand; I don’t even know why I had come out here. I knew this bonfire would be a bust. I lit a match and watched as it burned down, down, down until I had to drop it on the ground. I sat down on a log and set my things next to me, “This kinda sucks, you know?”
“Yeah I do. I’ll probably close up soon.” I looked at him again studying those features I had looked at time and time again. This was my boyfriend and he was beautiful. A lot of guys wouldn’t like it that I used words like that to describe them, but I thought they fit perfect.
I stood up and walked to the car where my friends were waiting for me, “I’m going to head on out babe.” He mumbled a goodbye and I got into the car. The first stop on our list was The Gas Gro for some snacks and drinks. I wasn’t sure what kind of mood I was in when I heard people talking in the aisle behind me.
“I told you my mother was going to do that. It’s not her fault she pulled the gun out, you know her issues. “
“Yes dear, but she pulled the gun on me. I had to knock her out. I didn’t have another choice.”
The couple stopped talking and I heard footsteps coming toward me. “What’s your problem little girl? Does a gun scare you? Are you going to run.” I stared at the woman for a few seconds before I started to back away from her. She stepped closer and I saw my friends staring at me.
“I just need to get to my car, my friends are waiting, excuse me.” I tried to duck my head and walk past but the couple stopped me before I could.
“Why don’t you just chill out?” A small, silver gun was pulled from the woman’s purse. My palms stared to sweat and I could feel the adrenaline in my body. It was harder for me to breathe as she kept staring into my eyes, pulling the gun farther out of her purse. The fear was creeping up into my stomach and I knew I was in way too deep. The woman looked up to her husband’s face and I took off down the aisle and made it out the door. I jumped in and the car took off faster than I ever knew possible. I kept driving toward Meghan’s house, where we were staying for the night, but didn’t make it far. I felt the car jerk and go uneven. As I climbed out of the car in the ditch where I’d stopped all I could think of was the people from that store.
I didn’t really know how to change a tire, but figured it couldn’t be that hard. I was still staring at it when I felt someone grab me from behind. I screamed, “Stop! Help! Help me!”
“Hey, hey Jinny, it’s okay. Calm down it’s just me. I thought I’d surprise you.” I sighed and relaxed as I recognized Brian’s voice.
“How could you scare me like that? I almost died right then.” My breath was still heavy as I felt the adrenaline in me start to recede and I relaxed.
“You forgot your matches.” All this had happened because I had forgotten my matches on that log at his house.
“That’s why you did this. You did that all because I forgot my matches.” There was nothing simple with Brian; he always had to go all out. Now that I had regained my wits I realized that couple had been his aunt and uncle.
“I needed to catch you. I wanted to return them to you.” He looked at me for a second, “Come with me. Let’s go swimming.”
I knew his version of swimming: skinny dipping. “Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. She should have took her own advice.
If she had, her house would be standing proud, not a pile of charred wood.
Her precious garden, usually an oasis of perfection, would not be a mess of limp weeds.
She would be making a roast dinner, not a pile of ashes sitting in an urn.
I stood at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the deep blue monster who was roaring its fury as it crashed against the rocks. I started to strip, feeling the sudden urge to protect my clothes from damage, even though I’d never have use for them again.
I felt warmth on my cheeks and raised my hand to my face and realised I was crying, it was surprising as I didn’t think I had any moisture left in my body to cry. I raised my face to the sky and sent a silent message to my mum that I was coming to see her.
Just as I was about to step over the edge I heard a voice call my name. I turned around to see someone running towards me.
And that’s how I ended in the middle of nowhere-naked
My mother always told me not to play with fire. But it is human nature to do the exact opposite of what you are told. It is like telling someone not to look at something and they look despite the person saying not to. We are all human. The red flames don’t fascinate me, the only reason I play with them is because my mother had forbidden me to.
After all, who can resist the forbidden object? I sure can’t. I honestly don’t know where to start, but if I had to choose, I would say it all started in my car. After my mother borrowed it to go camping. And laying in the front was a box of matches. There just layed there. I could hear them calling out to me, begging me to play with them. Before I knew it, I grabbed the set and started to try and light the matches. My eyes never leaving the sticks.
BEEEP!!!!!! A jumped as a horn startled me, accidently lighting the match on fire while trying to serve away from the oncoming truck. I screamed as I felt the now lit match land on my lap. Without thinking, I jumped out of my car. Tearing my clothes off to get the fire off of me. I was very lucky that it was not bushfire season.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere-naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. But listening was never my strong point.
And who could resist the dancing red ballerina, that bowed and waved to me in such a sensual way, that bloomed from a flimsy stick.
Oh, that beautiful ballerina always tempted me so, even at a young age.
Always smiling and greedily eating away at her little wooden prison.
But as I said, my mother always told me not to play with fire. Perhaps I was not completely inept at hearing her words, for my dancing friend never left a match.
Until now.
Now here is no ballerina, a playful sprite that loved me, danced for me, and warmed my finger tips.
Now there is a searing demon hanging over me, looming like the God of Death himself, sneering.
His hands dig into the ceiling, feet into the floors, and back arching into the walls.
Everything around the growing beast became a part of him, morphing, melting, twisting and burning.
Even my mighty mother, who I saw as the only thing more important then my flickering friend, was consumed by the hungry demon.
Slowly, but surely, it crept closer and closer.
My shirt and pants, the only things I bother to wear when in my home, singed, slowly becoming ash and fluttering away.
My skin soon started to do the same.
So I ran. I ran from the fiery prison like it was Hell, which it was becoming.
I ran.
And I ran.
Until I collapsed in the forest that I never explored.
I heard no cars, no sirens. Nothing.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere- naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. But what can I say? I am a thirteen year old boy after all- geesh.
Me, Craig, and Jimmy were in the woods near our neighborhood. Jimmy brought the booze from his father’s liquor cabinet, Craig brought one of his mom’s dish towels, and I brought the matches I’d found yesterday. We were going to make a bomb and set it off in the clearing behind old man Jacob’s house. We’d been back there before, burning other things: mostly tree branches and leaves, sometimes newspapers we’d stolen from around the hood. Once we set fire to my little sister’s doll- man did that thing smolder and stink up the place. As it burned, it twisted around on the ground like it was demon-possessed- THAT was cool.
Craig grabbed the bottle of booze from Jimmy and started soaking the towel. He must have soaked himself some too, because when I struck the match to light the corner of the towel, his flannel coat went up like Dy-No-Mite. Man, you should have seen him running around, hootin’ and hollerin’, trying to get that coat off! Jimmy and I just stood there watching him, Jimmy snickering the entire time, which made Craig mad. Once he stomped his coat out and settled down, we made the ultimate bomb, this time with the towel shoved inside the bottle. We used Craig’s wrecked coat as the wick.
I lit another match and we watched the flames snake up Craig’s coat toward the bottle. Next thing we knew, there was a loud POP and pieces of burning glass were raining down everywhere: onto our heads and all over our clothes. The three of us jumped and danced around, trying to flick the tiny, smoldering shards from our hair and clothes. We had to keep snuffing out the little fires that popped up all over us like a bad case of measles.
I looked up to see Jimmy’s hair smoldering and Craig trying to kick off his smokin’ sneakers. About that time I heard men coming, shouting our names- BUSTED. As I started to run, my shirt sleeve went up in flames, the tiny sparks fanned by my running. I didn’t stop. I ran, tossing off my clothes as I went. When I finally stopped, I found myself deep within the woods, not a soul in sight. I looked around, clutching my arms over my shivering body, listening for the sound of voices. I wondered what happened to Craig and Jimmy. Had they gotten away? I groaned, how I was going to explain this to my mother?
Well, it turns out I didn’t have to because my little sister snitched on me. My dad was one of the parents who had come looking for us. He found me trying to sneak back into the house in only my tennis shoes. Now I’m grounded for like FOREVER.
“And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere- naked.”
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I wondered for years what the hell she meant by that anyway. When cleaning my purse, I found a pack of matches that reminded me of the exact definition of this phrase.
Having been in a relationship, and I use the term very, very loosely, for some odd years. We were quickly approaching the peak of our interactions. It was date night, again. Every Friday night we made sure we spent time just the two of us, no friends, no family, or work. We plan to focus on just each other, in every way imaginable.
So, we went to a bar that we had never been to. A recommendation from one his closest friends, we trusted the recommendation. Upon entering, we were greeted with cigarette smoke looming through entire place, sitting heavy making the room darker than the dim lighting did already. Despite the glares from the regulars, we pushed our way through. He pulled out one of the stools for me to sit and as I inched my skirt to the middle of my thigh to sit as lady like as I could while pulling a cigarette from my purse, I noticed a woman quickly making her way over.
At first I thought she was a waitress or bartender, someone who worked there. But when she grabbed my man’s behind as she pushed her way to take his seat next me, I knew she came for more than to take our order. I sat momentarily in disbelief and gave him a quick glance that said, “What did we get ourselves into”. He returned with a blank look of confusion, but behind it I could see he enjoyed the touch from a new hand. Her supple pink lips separated to introduce herself.
“My name is…and I just thought…because…told me you guys would be…your name is…Right?” The music was so loud and the general buzz of conversation overshadowed much of what she said. All I knew is that my guy’s eyes lit up and gave me a nod. And as I grabbed a pack of matches off the bar, we were right back out the door and in our car following the directions of our new found friend.
Her directions were so twisted and turned; I knew I would never remember how to get out of there. Reaching the driveway of a motel I never knew existed, we began our adventure. We were all over each other, from the car to the door of the room, to the floor. Every inch of the room was touched with our passions until we could go no more.
When I awoke in the morning, I reached across the bed to find the woman gone, with everything! And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere-naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire…however when you are given the ability to wield such a powerful and creative form of energy…who the hell would listen? Ever since I was a young child I have found myself fascinated with any and every form of fire and now at the age of nineteen I fear that my fascination has turned into an unhealthy obsession. Recently I have started a collection of lighters, each a different shape, a different color and a different size; what I hadn’t expected was a box of matches to magically appear in my stash. I as stood over the glass case in which I held all of my prize possessions, I reached my hand in to pull out the box and examine it. It was old, rough and held a hard pen marking on the right side: BW. Confusion and interest immediately fogged my thoughts and I found my mind so much more intrigued by this small box of matches than I had ever felt over any other source of fire in my life.
I then found myself sitting in a soft arm chair twirling the box within my fingers trying to find any other special marking that would give any indication to where they had come from.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A sudden voice entered my clouded thoughts; a slight southern twang slid between his words and immediately drew my attention away from the box in my fingers. I turned to face my intruder and smiled at the young and handsome man that stood behind me.
“Yes.” It was a short reply, but one nonetheless.
“As luck would have it…you seem to have found my matches.” My brows narrowed in cautious confusion as I shifted my gaze between the box in my fingers and the southern catch just behind me.
“BW? What’s that mean, anyways?” I questioned as I stood and walked the box over to him. He smiled a pure white and toothy grin.
“My name, ma’am; Blake Watson.” He replied with a tip of the hat. “And yours?”
“Kasi Hilton,” I whispered as I took one step closer to him, my free hand slowly finding his as I slid the box into his back pocket with my other hand.
“Care to join me for a ride?” he asked, his tone seductive and playful. Unfortunately, that is the only thing I remember of that night. My chance meeting with a southern God and my unseen night of sheer…we’ll let that sentence fall as I found myself the next morning sprawled across the saddle of a horse, Blake beside me on the soft sandy ground. I sat up, finding nothing but my bare skin and Blake’s chiseled backside…Now I wonder how my mother could have ever been right? Playing with fire brought me the greatest adventure of my life and a smoldering every day following.
And that is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire, I just always assumed that it the fire I needed to be mindful of. Never did I ever imagine that it could, in fact, be the package the fire came in.
It was my 34th birthday. Well, it was a few days after my 34th birthday. Working such long shifts, it’s hard to celebrate events on the date of which they occur. I wasn’t even planning on doing anything, but a college friend was in town and insisted. Being a Physician’s Assistant, I’m used to people not being able to hear stories about my job, so we focused on what he was doing with a degree in Forest Management.
To be honest, the evening was uneventful. I may only work 4 days a week, but I tend to work 45-60 hours. That being said, I’m tired on my days off. Josh is not used to this, and I find myself apologizing for being so spacey and refusing to admit that he seems so energetic.
We said our goodbyes, and I start walking home when I come across a simple matchbox, and at first, I walked right passed it. I laughed at a joke in my head that someone had lost an important number. Looking out of my cell new, I wish I hadn’t gone back to look.
It did not contain an exotic name with a phone number, it was from a travel agency advertising the rental of an RV. Currently looking for a cheap vacation, and thinking about how young Josh looked, I asked for a week off work and booked an RV. The woman at the agency helped me plan for everything. She laughed when I told her that I hadn’t been camping since I was a teen ager, and that was really an excuse to go drink in the woods with some friends. She told me that she loved helping people figure out what to do their first time out, mostly because she had heard too many horror stories.
She told me about this one couple that had smiled and told her that they didn’t need her help, and wanted to figure it out on their own. Later they told her about how in the first day their meat went bad and their toilet paper got wet. This lead to them using leaves and creating quite the embarrassing rash. I thought that might have been one of the worst case scenarios, she’ll probably laugh harder if I can ever tell her this story.
I took the RV out, made it to the site, and got set up easily enough. Once all that was done, however, I slipped and broke my glasses. Realizing I left my spare set at home, I called a friend to bring them out to me. In fact, I was hoping that I might be able to use this to have her get stuck with only one sleeping bag. She picked up and, once she finished laughing at me, said that she would love to help me out, adding that she didn’t want to drive too late at night and might have to stay the night. Understandably I was pretty excited and started running back to my site from where I had service.
I must have kicked a skunk. But you must already have guessed that by my smell. I started running toward what I thought was the lake ripping my clothes off trying to get the liquid death off me. Unfortunately, I was heading toward the lake. I jumped in and started rubbing as much of the stank as I could, and looking up I found a group of Cub Scouts being sent back to their tents while their fathers anxiously awaited an explanation. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere — naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I tried to take her warnings to heart. Sitting, drunk, on a curb in the middle of downtown St. Louis in an intense state of grief, protruding tears that only my soul could birth that drench my swollen eyes as I yell out in agony “WHHHHHYYYYYYY!!!!!????” The rage and desperation for answers was wild inside. My heart, shattered. My love was gone and so was my concern for the world around me. I embraced the remainder of the familiar Blue Label which dulled the edges and calmed the wild, until the city was as dark as the country nights I loved.
I woke to a fading voice exclaiming: “They’ll lead you to your answer if you don’t break the rule!” “What rule?” I grumbled while regaining consciousness. I giggled because I’m obviously loosing my mind. I reached to my side for my faithful Blue Label. It was gone. In its place was an old tattered book of matches.
My mother’s warnings came to mind. I shrugged it off, said “Fuck it” and struck one of the last 4 matches. The voice rushed back “Keep forward and you’ll know.” I started walking. I heard quick steps on the pavement behind me whispering my name in his familiar voice. I turned back and looked. The streets did not notice, but the voice did. “Don’t break the rule” it whispered as the city lights faded. It was now black in the city.
Quickly I lit the next match. “I’d like the answer now.” No response, but heard him call my name once again. I turned around and tried to follow his voice. “Where are you Jeff? I need you.” “Don’t break the rule” the voice demanded. “Where are you leading me?” “To the answer” the voice proclaimed while stealing the sounds of the city. It’s dark and quiet and I only have 2 matches left.
“Hey girl” I lit another match quickly to see. “I need all your clothes to burn so you can see. If you give me that match before it goes out.” I complied. His voice burned my ear drums and scorched my nudity as she lit the fire. I looked all around hoping the fire would reveal him only to see a sign lit by the fire “Don’t break the rule!” The fire was gone.
I called out “I have but a single match to reach the answer and nothing left to offer.” “What do I do?” The response: “Keep forward and you will know.” I walked until I was stopped. “Hey girl, light it and you will see.” Jeff’s voice began crying my name, but I couldn’t worry with him right now. I struck the final match and her face appeared with eyes as sharp like black diamonds. “Don’t you know its bad luck to look back girl?” The light faded the answer did not.
Officer, that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere-naked.
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.” he said.
Something warm trickled down my face and into my mouth. I slowly opened my eyes and realized it was my own blood. My head throbbed and my body felt as if I’d been hit by a tow-truck. I was barefoot, dressed in nothing but a thin, musty-smelling nightgown, and was tied to a rickety wooden chair. I searched the darkened room trying to locate the source of the voice. In the corner, someone struck a match and lit a candle. I could vaguely see boxes stacked on racks along the walls, a tool-cluttered workbench about five feet away, and a tow-truck parked on the other side of the garage. It was the tow-truck driver who had stopped to change my tire.
He set the candle on the workbench. As he fondled a matchbook I’d found the day before, his greasy hair fell from behind his ear, obscuring his eyes.
“Ya know,” he said gazing into the flame. “When I was little, I’d get lost in its flame; it spoke to me. She said I was evil. Yer just like her, suppose you’ll burn like her too, ya red-headed whore. ”
He lit one a matches and held it to my face. The sulfurous smoke barely masked the reek of his breath or the stench of gasoline on his overalls. My stomach retched. He put the match out on my cheek. My flesh sizzled and I screamed.
“Scream all ya want, no one ‘round here for miles.” he said.
He struck another match. He was about to repeat his torture, when a dog barked somewhere outside.
“That’d be ole Jack wantin’ his supper. Don’t ya be goin’ nowhere, missy.” he laughed and patted me on the head, then wiped my blood on his greasy overalls.
“Hold yer horses!” he yelled.
After a minute or so, I prayed for strength, and began rocking back and forth in the chair. It toppled over, knocking the air out of me, breaking the chair-frame, and setting me free. I heard him whistling as he came out of the house across the yard.
“Thank God he’s no Boy Scout.” I thought and quickly untied my feet.
The whistling got closer. I ran to the workbench, grabbed a tire-iron, and blew out the candle. I crouched in the shadows behind the truck. He came in and closed the door behind him.
“Come out, come out, wherever ya are!” he taunted, lighting a match.
I sprang from my hiding place, swinging the tire-iron at his head. He staggered, dropping the matches. I snatched them up, lit the whole matchbook, and tossed it at him. His overalls burst into flame. He grabbed at me as I ran outside, tearing off the nightgown. I barricaded the door with the rain barrel and watched him burn.
“That’s some story!” said the sheriff, wrapping me in his jacket.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. Now there’s one piece of advice I should never have taken to heart.
Yesterday I had the realisation that I was naked. My lack of courage, no sense of adventure, inability to seize an opportunity––it was there for all to see.
I pondered this as I went for my morning walk, wondering how I’d fill the cavernous space that was the day ahead, when I found a pack of matches on the sidewalk––because I was staring at the ground rather than taking in the sights around me.
Absentmindedly I picked up the matches and lit them, one by one, watching them fizz with life and then die. Thinking, am I the dead match or the live match?
I’m playing with fire, I realised. But I’m not getting hurt.
In the past I was a good girl, heeded mum’s advice, and ended up in no man’s land––no idea of where to go or what to do with life. I’d played it too safe.
Others clothed themselves in life, rich tapestries compared to my own. Set things up just the way they wanted, made use of opportunities that came by. Made memories.
But my vulnerability was there for all to see: my fear, reservedness, stepping back from anything potentially rich and rewarding.
Today I did it––I’ve never felt so liberated! From now on I’m going to be the person I could’ve been. The person I’d been too scared to be.
This afternoon we jumped. I asked you to do it with me. I wanted someone to share my memories.
You, a stranger. I know, that’s the point. When we passed each other in the street I thought to myself, here’s someone I’d like to make a memory with!
It took a fair bit of talking to make you warm to the idea, didn’t it? My mother would’ve been horrified, flirting with a stranger and then taking him to the bridge.
But it turns out I’m better at this than I ever thought!
Got those ropes fastened properly? Good.
1-2-3––JUMP!
At the pub: we’re celebrating. I’m still shaking. I don’t know if it’s adrenalin from the bungee or from your piercing eyes. I love the way you’re looking at me.
Tomorrow I’ll be flying out to Africa on a one way ticket. Mum would have a heart attack if she were here to see it – her only daughter in such a dangerous place! I’m going to work with a charity, something I always wanted to do, but, you guessed it––was too scared to.
I’ll never be the old me again. It’s a feeling I never want to recreate. It’s why yesterday I drifted in a life with no memories. I never took a risk, and that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
481 words
My mother always told me not to play with fire; she meant it both literally and figuratively. I always ignored her advice nonetheless, which occasionally got me into trouble.
It was Easter, or as the Catholics call it back in the island, Holy Week. As a rebellious teenager with an urban swagger, I was not very fond of spending Holy Week in a conservative small town where nothing exciting ever happened. The town would fall under a hypnotic spell for an entire week. The adults would spend most of the day in church. At night there would be an eerie silence interspersed by the sounds of the nocturnal critters. Everybody was expected to stay indoors and to go to bed early. To do otherwise was frowned upon by the elders. God would not be happy, they would constantly say. My mother, well, she would always make me comply.
On the third night, my buddy and I decided we had had enough of this boredom. Shortly after the whole town fell asleep, we craftily snuck out of our houses and met in front of the church across the central square a few blocks away. A very uncharacteristic pack of matches was laying on the steps leading up to the front gate.
I picked it up and it felt warm. A cross inscribed on one side of the pack and a trident on the other side. The smell of sulfur started to fill up the air. Hmm, this is weird, I thought to myself. Don’t open it, said my buddy. Unsurprisingly, I did the opposite. There was just one match and a birthday candle within the box. Immediately thereafter, the clouds covered the moon so the logical thing to do was to light up the candle. I struck the match and lighting struck nearby in the tobacco fields. I dropped the box. My buddy and I got very scared.
The candle was lit up inside the box. I grabbed it and heard a frightening scream that came from the fields. The smell of sulfur became stronger. We looked at each other, a little scared. Let’s go find out, I murmured. Now, an empty pack of matches with nothing but a lit up candle inside was glowing; the flame pointing towards the field. As we arrived, the flame extinguished and it got pitch black. She started screaming. It was a succubus; my friend panicked and ran away.
So there I was, face to face with the most beautiful, yet devilish female form I have ever seen. I was paralyzed by fear but lusting over her. I knew I was toast. It never occurred to me I was going to lose my virginity in such a mysterious way. Her curly hair was aflame; she pushed me against the floor and ripped my clothes off. Climax sent me on an unconscious state. At sunrise I woke up and that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.” Bertie thought when he spotted the matches on the sidewalk, but he bent to retrieve the matchbook anyway.
It looked like a regular old book of matches, with a red cardboard cover, but as he picked it up an electric shock shot up his arm. Bertie jerked back, almost dropping it. He whirled around, expecting some jokester to appear, laughing and wanting to retrieve his trick match book from the hapless victim. But the street was empty, save for a woman with a baby stroller at the end of the block. Bertie turned his attention back to the book of matches still clutched in his fist.
Gingerly, with the tip of one finger, he flipped it open, expecting to see the cunning mechanism hidden within that had zapped him. Bertie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he found himself looking at simply a row of stubby cardboard matches, like those in any other matchbook.
Muttering a curse word under his breath, he very nearly threw it back down on the sidewalk again in disgust. But then he thought once more of his mother’s voice, telling him not to play with matches. He stubbornly gritted his teeth and struck a match out of spite.
“Whooompf!” A sudden wave of flame washed over him. Good Lord, he’d sent himself up in flames playing with matches, just as his mother had always said he would! Frightened, and slightly dumbfounded, he staggered, then put out his free hand to steady himself against a telephone pole. As he did he glanced down at himself in surprise. Gone were his usual jeans and AC/DC tee-shirt. Instead, he was dressed in shiny red leather breaches, heeled boots, a puffy white shirt under a black cape and was that really a sword?
Bertie looked down in wonder at the matchbook in his hand. Without stopping to think, he tore out another match and struck it. “Whompf!” Another draft of flame enveloped him, and this time he was wearing the uniform of a major league base ball player. Bertie laughed aloud before striking another match, then another, and another. He was a cave man, dressed in animal skins, then a World War II aviator, complete with goggles, followed by a Spanish Matador. The rest of the matches followed in quick succession, each one leaving him in an outfit stranger than the last, until, abruptly, there was only one match left in the pack.
Bertie shrugged aside the weight of his ermine stole as he contemplated the final match. A sudden spark of electricity raced along his fingers as it had when he’d picked it up. He grinned slyly and struck the last match.
Hours later, at the police station, he tried to explain to his mother on the phone. “ . . . you see, it wasn’t my fault. It was the matches, and that’s how I ended up naked, in the middle of nowhere.”
My mother always told me not to play with fire. Isn’t that a pretty common staple in most families? Think about it there are about a hundred epitats about not playing with fire. So why was it that sitting alone on a cold winter’s night i happened to find some matches and think this once it might be alright? Chuckle if you must but the kid in me started jumping up and down and scoping the scene to make sure no one was around. You know the feeling, looking around trying to make sure there is no invisible hand about to jump out and smack your wrist… Thats when it happened…. Aware of nobody else i took a match in my hand and struck the side of the box. Instantly i heard the pop and sizzle of the match igniting. i could smell that warm mixture of wood and sulfur stinging my nostrils… Excitement!!! Damn it ended too soon. i looked down and noticed that was the last match.
The wind began to howl and growl outside my window. i started thinking warm and serene thoughts about how lovely it would be to start a fire in the fireplace. Desperately i looked around knowing that there would be no fire unless i got up and went to the store and got some more matches. Pulling on my coat and scarf i walked around trying in vain to locate my car keys. i searched high and low even in places i could have never put them only to remember sheepishly that my cat had been using them as a toy just moments ago. Finally locating my keys, and getting some rather nasty looks from a very disgruntled tabby i glided out the door toward my car. i turned the ignition and heard the gentle click click of car trying to turn over but reminding me in its own quiet way that we were currently out of gas. Damn the luck!!!
Armed with the knowledge that the only person i could call for a ride was my crazy neighbor i reluctantly sauntered toward my phone. I searched through my contacts and found Grace’s number and pushed the call button. The phone only rang once and i was greeted with a nasty smoker’s hack in my ear before being greeted with Grace’s squeaky voice ” Hello” she said.
“Hi, ” i replied ” i was wondering if you could take me to the store i ran out of gas and i need some matches to start a fire.”
” A fire, but it’s the middle of summer” Grace chortled… Like I said she’s crazy. After five more minutes of conversation ( mostly me humoring her wild ravings) about the propaganda beasts down at the store i.e. the tabloids and her odd fear of them for some reason uncovering her whereabouts to her ex-husband she agreed. “On one condition” she said.
“What’s that?” i politely asked.
” You go with me to my brother’s party for a few minutes, i have to make an appeareance.”
Reluctantly i agreed. Donning my most agreeable yet casual outfit i walked out the door and patiently awaited her arrival. It came sooner than i would have liked before i could really get the smell of the cold on me i heard to squeal of Grace’s tires as she peeled into the drive. i walked over to car and got in. The entire drive was oddly quiet. it seemes Grace ran out of steam on the phone and instead of making small talk i was greeted by the pleasant sounds of Melissa Etheridge coming from the car speakers.
The drive took only 10 minutes when we pulled up to a surprisingly swinging party out in the middle of no where . Getting out of the car i was surprised to see the most handsome man i had ever seen walking toward us. He came right up to Grace and gave her a big bear hug and a playful jostle. he turned toward me and that was it i was sold. the night wore on and i found out his name was Jon and he was the most normal and excitingly single man i could have ever possibly met considering the circumstances.
All evening long he was by my side and at the end of the night instead of going home with Grace i ended up staying with Jon…. Thank God for playing with matches… And that is how i ended up out in the middle of no where naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. It was like she was sitting right next to me, reminding me of the consequences. I knew the chick he left his telephone number for would return from the restroom soon, so I had to act quick. I snatched the pack of matches from the bar, dropped them into my purse and headed for the door. I knew it was wrong to tell him she was my cousin, but I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to keep talking; even though it was a one sided conversation about her. I wanted to know what he saw in her. Why was he attracted to her and not me? He kept asking me questions about her. Questions I didn’t know the answers to like, What’s her name? Is she married? Does she live in the area?
I sat in the taxicab and stared at his telephone number on the flap of the matches. I wanted to call and pretend to be her, but what if he wanted to meet? I certainly didn’t look like her in any way. She was short, I was 5’9; she had short, red hair and I had long black hair; she had big boobs, I was a disappointing A cup. I decided to call and tell him she wasn’t interested, told him she had just gotten out of a bad relationship and that I didn’t want him to be waiting on her to call so I was being the liaison, so to speak. He sounded a bit disappointed with the news, but he took it fairly well. Just before he was about to hang up, I asked if he wanted to hit up a party with me. I lied and said she would be there, but it wouldn’t be awkward because it was at a club near the hotel we had just left. I told him I was in a taxi and that I could stop by and scoop him up.
Reluctantly, he agreed.
The taxi pulled up to the corner at the intersection of Voss and Windhaven. I tried to keep my cool.
We chatted.
I flirted.
He flirted.
The party was crowded, drinks were flowing, and I had him tuned in to me. He couldn’t keep his hands off of me, which made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. After a while I couldn’t feel my lips. Not even when he kissed me.
Then I woke up in an unfamiliar house, in the middle of a king sized bed. It was quiet and I could smell bacon. I walked over to the window and saw a large open field with cows, horses, a paved road, but no cars. No signs of civilization. The bedroom door opened and he stood in the frame, coffee mug in hand, with nothing on except an apron and a smile. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere…naked.
(495 words)
“My mother always told me not to play with fire,” Josh said, almost philosophically, as he lit a cigarette with a pack of matches from his coat pocket.
“Unh,” I grunted in response. Light flickered off his face and glittered in his eyes as he stared at the inferno before us.
The inferno was called Mikayla. She was a dancer at the Lucky Sailor, a dilapidated “gentleman’s” club on B street that was far less fortuitous than its name implied. Mikayla was tall with pale skin, green eyes, a gorgeous frame, and a swath of auburn hair that blazed a trail from her scalp to her thighs. She had been on stage for about five minutes, and I could see a familiar look cross Josh’s face. He wanted her; badly I could tell. Every so often he would get a craving for something new, and there was no helping but to tag along and make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble that his quick smile and easy manners couldn’t get himself out of.
Mikayla was this evening’s trouble it would seem. She gave Josh most of her attention as she danced and gyrated on the stage, even after his handful of dollar bills ran out and all he could offer was his blatant appreciation for her form. I could see other patrons getting impatient, but Mikayla didn’t seem to mind. She pulled a cigarette from his pack, and slowly placed it in her mouth. “Got a light, handsome,” she purred into his ear. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the pack of matches. He clumsily attempted to light one, failed, rendering the tiny bit of cardboard limp, and tried again with a new match. This one was successful, and as he held it to her waiting mouth, the glow of flame as it touched the cigarette set her emerald eyes to sparkling.
She stepped off stage, ignoring the mutterings of the other voyeurs as well as the angry look of the club owner sitting in a darkened corner in his tweed jacket, with his brandy snifter in hand and two dancers on either side. She grabbed Josh by the hand and headed outside. I had no choice but to follow, smiling apologetically at the owner on my way out, though I doubt it did much to calm his rising temper.
Outside Josh was locked in a firm kiss with Mikayla, holding her against the hood of his old Plymouth. As I approached the two to once again offer my services as Monsieur Chauffeur to Josh and his Libido, my friend unaccountably dropped to the ground unconscious. Mikayla turned her gaze on me, her eyes sparkling even in the darkness of night. I rushed forward to check on Josh when something heavy hit the back of my head and stars exploded behind my eyes. I sank into sweet, libido free oblivion.
And that is how I ended up here, in the middle of nowhere, naked.
I like how visual this is; you, as a reader, can really see this scene playing out because of all the subtle details along with the narrator’s commentary on his situation.
I’m aware I already posted a response so if anyone feels the need to point that out, don’t. I had this idea as well shortly after writing my first response and I like this one better.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I never did, but now I wish I had. I wish I had played with fire and was consumed by the flames. The pain would have been far less than the pain I feel now.
I have the pipe. I have the bag of white powdery chunks, but nothing to heat them. I need my fix; the craving is eating away at me. As I sit on the sidewalk watching the cars pass in the darkness. Just before the desperation became too much, a man walked by a pack of matches falling from his pocket. I tried to snatch them off the ground, but fait denied me them. The man bent over, picking them up.
“Hands off girl. These are my matches,” the man said with a scowl.
“Please can I just have one? Just one?” I pleaded, eyes fixed on the matches.
“Why should I give you one of MY matches? How will it benefit me?” the man growled.
“I’ll give or do anything you want,” I cried.
“Anything?” he whispered, eyeing me and turning the matches in his fingers.
“Y..Yes,” I stuttered.
“Alright, come with me,” the man said, moving toward a nearby parked car. He unlocked the vehicle and opened the passage side door.
“Get in,” he commanded.
I obeyed, sitting down in the expensive car. The man sat in the driver’s seat and started the car.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
The man just smiled as the car started moving. The car was silent for several minutes, the city beginning to disappear around us only to be replaced by dessert. When the city was no longer in the rear view mirrors he pulled over, and didn’t turn off the engine.
“Get out,” he said opening his door and stepping out of the vehicle. I did the same.
He looked at me from the other side of the car a moment, and then gestured for me to close my door. I did, but he didn’t close his own door. He rolled down the passage side window and smirked.
“Take all your clothes off and put them on the seat,” he instructed. I nodded and did as he asked, revealing my thin fragile body to him and the cold night air. When I had finished he rolled up my window and locked the door. He picked up the matches, took out a single one and tossed it to me. I caught it and held it close to my chest. The man then started laughing. Before I could do anything, he had climbed back into his car and sped off. I sat down on the sand and began to sob uncontrollably.
“And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere naked,” I said between sobs.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. It was like she was sitting right next to me, reminding me of the consequences. I knew the chick he left his telephone number for would return from the restroom soon, so I had to act quick. I snatched the pack of matches from the bar, dropped them into my purse and headed for the door. I knew it was wrong to tell him she was my cousin, but I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to keep talking; even though it was a one sided conversation about her. I wanted to know what he saw in her. Why was he attracted to her and not me? He kept asking me questions about her. Questions I didn’t know the answers to like, What’s her name? Is she married? Does she live in the area?
I sat in the taxicab and stared at his telephone number on the flap of the matches. I wanted to call and pretend to be her, but what if he wanted to meet? I certainly didn’t look like her in any way. She was short, I was 5’9; she had short, red hair and I had long black hair; she had big boobs, I was a disappointing A cup. I decided to call and tell him she wasn’t interested, told him she had just gotten out of a bad relationship and that I didn’t want him to be waiting on her to call so I was being the liaison, so to speak. He sounded a bit disappointed with the news, but he took it fairly well. Just before he was about to hang up, I asked if he wanted to hit up a party with me. I lied and said she would be there, but it wouldn’t be awkward because it was at a club near the hotel we had just left. I told him I was in a taxi and that I could stop by and scoop him up.
Reluctantly, he agreed.
The taxi pulled up to the corner at the intersection of Voss and Windhaven. I tried to keep my cool.
We chatted.
I flirted.
He flirted.
The party was crowded, drinks were flowing, and I had him tuned in to me. He couldn’t keep his hands off of me, which made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. After a while I couldn’t feel my lips. Not even when he kissed me.
Then I woke up in an unfamiliar house, in the middle of a king sized bed. It was quiet and I could smell bacon. I walked over to the window and saw a large open field with cows, horses, a paved road, but no cars. No signs of civilization. The bedroom door opened and he stood in the frame, coffee mug in hand, with nothing on except an apron and a smile. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere…naked.
(495 words)
My mother always told me not to play with fire.
I was 15 when I decided to hop the empty rail car. The freight train had stopped across the tracks near my home and I figured what the hell, I’d take it to the next stop and walk or hitch a ride back home when I got bored. It was summer and my parents were used to me being gone all day. “Go get the stink blown off you”, Dad would yell – always followed by Mom’s “But be back before dinner”.
I flicked my cigarette at the gravel under my feet and climbed up onto the freight train just as it began to clank and lurch forward, lumbering slowly away from the railroad crossing near my home. I sat with my legs dangling from the open car with a feeling of brave accomplishment. The sweltering summer heat began to cool as the train picked up speed and the smoky air passed over me, drying the sweat from my face.
I watched as familiar homes and farms turned into wide open fields and found myself wondering where the hell I was. The train was moving faster than I had anticipated and as I tried to scoot back away from the open door, a sudden bump jerked the car to the side and I began to fall forward. I felt two hairy arms grab me around the waist and pull me back into the darkness of the car.
“Hey kid, you almost fell out.” The foul stench of alcohol, vomit and tooth decay burned the inside of my nose. I turned toward the voice and looked into the face of the man who had pulled me to safety. His skin was weathered and brown – his face covered in a long graying beard that seemed to go all the way up to his eye sockets. His clothing was covered in layers of filth and he smelled like a freshly shit turd.
“Thanks”, was the only word that fell from my lips. I was scared to death but had to maintain my cool.
“Where you headed kid?” He blew his breath at me again and I turned my face away in an attempt to gulp some uncontaminated air.
I didn’t answer. I just wanted the train to stop and I wanted to go home. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry – I kept repeating in my head.
“Yeah, kid. Where you going?” Another voice growled from within the car. I turned and found myself in the presence of three scraggly, dirty, smelly men.
My big mouth was now incapable of uttering a single word. I moved back toward the opening but the train was moving too fast for me to jump.
“You can’t get out till the train slows down and it’ll probably be awhile before that happens. We might as well have a little fun in the meantime”, Puke Breath muttered as the others laughed. He grabbed me around my waist again and pulled me toward him. I kicked him and freed myself as the other two cheered him on.
“C’mon, don’t be that way – have a drink with us, loosen up a little bit.” He drank from a bottle in a paper sack. The others were drinking as well. The interior of the car reeked of urine, vomit and cheap alcohol. I kicked at him again and the bottle fell to the floor, spilling the contents as it rolled toward the other two, still seated on the filthy floor. Puke Breath was pissed.
He pulled me by the hair down onto the floor as the other two tore at my clothes. I remembered the lighter and cigarettes in my shorts pocket and struggled to free my hand and grab the lighter just as my shorts were pulled off my body.
The train’s brakes began to squeal and I could feel the jerking movements begin to slow as I flicked the lighter and a very flammable Puke Breath ignited into flames. As he rolled over to his two equally combustible friends, I jumped from the train into a weed filled ditch.
And that is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. But really, who are we kidding here? She’s known since I was a baby that I had a fascination with bright, blazing lights. In fact, she said that I uttered my first word at Christmas when the house was lit up like Times Square. Guess what that word was? Lights!! So can you really blame me when I agree to go to the graduation bonfire for the high school seniors of 2010?
In my defense, I was a senior and it was a yearly tradition. How could I not go? I mean EVERYBODY was going to be there. Do you really think that I could tell all of my friends that I couldn’t go because mom didn’t trust me around mini infernos?
Well anyway, I am sitting by the bonfire drinking a Smirnoff with a grape jolly rancher in it. I’m not going to lie, I was dangerously close to the fire but I like how beautiful the flames look. I leaned back in my fold-out chair, head and body tilted back, the tips of my toes steadying me on the ground. Bobby walks up behind me and for a minute he stands there and I think to myself, “He should really give me an upside-down kiss like Peter Parker does in the Spiderman movie. That would be sooo hot!” Then, I realize that Bobby looks a little sad and disturbed. So I propel my self and my chair to an upright position. He walks around to the front of me and says, “Here”. His face is stern and unwavering. In his hand is a greeting card. I’m so excited, I don’t even read the generic hallmarky words. I went straight for his hand-written note.
As I read his words, I feel the smoke rising near my nostrils. Only, I can’t tell if it is from the actual bonfire or my deep, ferocious exhalation. My blood begins to boil. My head is about to explode. Maybe, I am really too close to this bonfire. Then, I read the words again, “I’m happy for you, but since you’re going off to college, I think we should break up. I’m sorry. Bobby”.
Hot rage flashes across my face. All I see is fire. Fire in my eyes, fire in my bones. By this time, I’m so raving mad that I stand up and push Bobby as hard as I can. He falls back on his heels and steadies himself by grabbing an empty fold-out chair next to him. All I can think is that I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him like he’s hurting me. I look around desperate to find some way to make him feel pain. Behind Bobby, I see a round table. It’s covered in bottles of various types of liquor. Liquor that I know Bobby bought because he’s the only one who’s twenty one years old. I furiously march to the table and begin throwing and smashing glass bottles full of alcohol on the ground. My arms are swinging and the stuff is flying everywhere. What I didn’t know is that a few of those bottles were flying right into the bonfire.
I wasn’t aware of the explosive booms coming from the alcohol hitting the fire. I was too angry. I didn’t even care that everyone was running away. I figured, “Good let them run. Let them think I’m crazy. They won’t mess with me!” When the flames from the bonfire sputtered and spread, they must’ve clung to my clothes because my skin was hot. I looked down at my right pant leg and saw that I was on fire. My anger faded into confusion and then turned into hysteria. I ran for the woods, not realizing that the wind was making the flames worse.
As pissed as Bobby was at me, he tackled me and pushed me to the ground. I thought, “It’s bad enough I’m going to burn to death but he’s going to beat me too?” But he didn’t beat me. He was ripping me pants off and then my shirt. I was hyperventilating and panicky. I stuttered, “Wha what are y-you doing?”
“Saving you’re crazy butt,” he said as he snickered. “Are you hurt bad?”
“No, but my leg burns”, I whimpered as I realized I wasn’t going to die and started crying. I had just made a fool of myself, ruined the party, and almost burned to death.
“Well, this must be a first. You managed to burn down a bonfire party!”
I’m really crying now, because I’m embarrassed, ” Stop laughing at me. This is not funny. How did you expect me to react. You broke up with me at the senior graduation party. In front of EVERYBODY. On a FREAKIN’ HALLMARK CARD!!!”
Bobby sat up on the ground and lifted me into his lap, being careful not to touch the inflamed section of my calf. He said, “I’m sorry. You’re leaving at the end of summer and I panicked. I don’t want to break up. I just thought it’d be easier to end things before we spend the whole summer getting close only to have you leave me.”
I tucked my head under his neck, my cheek pressed against his collarbone, “Your an idiot… Oh, look. Joey and them are filling up the ice chests with river water and dumping it on the fire”.
“Oh good. Well, come on. Your burns not too bad, but I think we should still get you to the after-hours clinic. They’re still open”. Bobby picked up my clothes in one hand and lifted us both from the ground in one fell swoop.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere naked.
Longer than 500 I know…. sorry
My mother always told me not to play with fire. So I close my eyes and try to focus on the music pounding from my headphones. There are matches on the floor. Twelve little cardboard pencils lined in two identical rows. The flap is open; they are very close to being free. It is not enough, this flimsy paper cage, to contain the words they will write in orange, red, and gray. They lie there, unwatched, unrestrained, with some much power in their pimple-like heads that will burst and spew acidic puss, which will sizzle on the skin of myself and all the other passengers on this bus.
Danger lurks, hiding under the seats, waiting to char the fabric black. This whole bus could erupt from a single spark – a spark which could be caused by one sharp turn that will slide the matches across the floor, grinding, smoking, exploding into silent bombs.
No. I mustn’t let my thoughts go on like that. I must think of Bow, think of how he had screamed as the flames spread up his paws. He had thought the flames where pretty too. He had only wanted to play with me and my fire. It had been so small, just a crumpled piece of paper, but soon it was bigger than Bow. He had seemed so small I remember, after I had beat out the flames. His charred little body had barely required two hands to lift. All nine of his lives gone. I swore then that I would never touch another match. I wouldn’t even light candles for my birthday. I have been good all these years.
But now, with them just sitting there taunting me, how can I refuse their offer? Their offer of the power to creating something so bright and so deadly, especially in this cramped space. The smell will reach the last seats before the flames spread. They will scream; oh how they will all scream, their shouts molding together and drowning among the roar of the fire.
I clutch the seat beneath me, fighting the images and the urge to bring them out of my head and into reality. Only one more hour and I will be off this damn bus; I can do this. The bus jerks to a halt, the matches skid across the aisle. A man a few rows back picks them up. A scar shines white along the side of his arm. No not a scar, a burn, a nasty third degree burn spanning from index finger to elbow. His mouth twitches as he fingers the matches. He breaks one away from its brothers, ignites it and drops it into the car seat resting on the chair behind him. The scream catches in my throat. Part of me, the part I had hoped long dead wants to see what will happen. The mother doesn’t notice until it’s too late. She pulls the consumed blanket from inside the carrier and weeps as the fire climbs her dress, feasting on fabric and flesh.
The scenes inside my head erupt around me. I rush to the driver to tell him to stop, but he has already seen the blaze and panicked. The floor teeters beneath me as the bus rolls onto its side. The window cracks beneath me, letting in air. My screams blend with all the rest as the flames dance around me. I remove my leather jacket and drape it over my head as I stand. I climb. I climb through the flesh and bone and fire. I claw at faces and seats with equal force. I feel arms and noses shatter beneath my boots. The air sizzles as it swirls in my lungs, but still I climb. My fingers lace around the emergency hatch in what used to be the ceiling. I topple out into the sunlight and onto the ground. I roll in the dirt, but still the flames lap at my clothing. I tear the fabrics from my body. The skin that remains on my arms is red and black and one of my ankles howls in protest to pressure. The screams die around me, along with one of the few that made it out of the bus.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
Very dark and visceral. I like it.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. So when I woke up to a giant wall of burning trees outside my tent I knew it was time to go. I threw on my clothes and took off running.
The flames were catching up fast so I hopped on the closest wolf and held on for dear life. The furball kept running because we’d be dead if it stopped. I didn’t have to turn around to see how close the fire was. I could feel it nipping at me, like a puppy wanting to play.
The smelly beast I was riding was too slow. I ended up jumping on a passing deer and we sped away. I felt empowered; I took off my shirt and waved it in the air while screaming gibberish at the fire. Until the flames fought back, disintegrating my shirt in seconds.
Luckily, the trees opened up and the bright sky filled my eyes. Before I could take in the situation my deer slid to a stop and inertia threw me over the cliff that I climbed the day before. I waited for a pterodactyl to swoop me away but instead, I plunged into the river like a carcass.
In a matter of seconds I was surrounded by piranhas nibbling on my flesh. I tried to swim away but passed out instead. When I regained consciousness I found myself in the arms of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She lay me down on shore, smiled, and dove back into the water, flapping her gorgeous tail goodbye.
Fortunately, she wrote her phone number on my hand so I could thank her later. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. She told me more than once, and I obeyed her unwritten rule for almost 18 years. But high school has a funny way of making you forget rules.
My friends and I were enjoying an average Friday night. We strolled around our town, visiting the usual stores and meeting the usual people. As the night wore we grew more restless. Nothing exciting had happened yet. As if on a cue, one of our friends ran out of the darkness calling “Hey guys check out what I found!” We instinctively followed, like a pack of sharks smelling the slightest bit of blood.
Indeed, our friend had found something worth our while. Inside a dumpster behind a convenience store, was a small box. Much to our delight the box had only a single sticker that read “CAUTION CONTENTS FLAMMABLE”. Inside were many short bricks that were each a pale yellow. We all concluded that it was some sort of TNT or C4. It was as if the gods of destruction and delinquency were shining down upon us.
We went to a location our leader, Jack, said was “perfect for this sort of stuff” Eventually we made it to a farmer’s cornfield. We all knew this was a very bad place to be at, as farmer Olan did not tolerate trespassers. But that didn’t matter. The excitement and adrenaline that accompanies wrongdoing was flowing through our blood now and no means of sensible reasoning could overcome that now.
“What do ya’ reckon? Blow ‘em up all at once?” said a timid voice from the back of the group.
“Of course,” Jack said with a chuckle. Assuming the timid voice was mine, he turned around and grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me up front. He gave me orders to take off my shirt, which he then pushed into one of the bricks, acting as a makeshift fuse.
He then tossed me a lighter and said, “Light her up”. I lit the shirt and ran away. But I didn’t run fast enough.
I was hurled ten feet into the air before I plopped back down to the earth. There was an intense pain on the right side of my body, as well as a constant ringing in my ear. Unable to hear my own screams, I quickly rolled on the ground and took off all of my clothes, even down to my underwear to escape the horrible pain.
My first instinct was to run, which I did. I ran for what seemed an hour, until finally the pain in my right leg combined with tiredness caused me to collapse on top of a hill. Only by doing this did I see what we had done. From miles and miles away I could see a bright light. The whole cornfield was ablaze. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
just realized my story doesnt feature any matches. silly me.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. The court order demanded the same. Guess that’s what happens when you accidently light up a field. That’s past, it’s the future that matter’s. The court order required me to not own any lighters or matches, but they can’t monitor what I find.
I was walking home from work when I found them. Just lying there on the sidewalk. A pack of matches, with “West End Motel”, written on the package. There were only two matches inside, but that’s two more than I had. I had starred at them for what seemed like hours, trying to resist. Eventually I gave in, picked them up and ran. I looked for a place I wouldn’t get caught. I didn’t want to get in trouble. I ended up in the woods, trees hiding me from peoples judging gazes.
I held the matches close like they were a precious picture. Thinking how I could make only two matches last. I figured it out eventually. I found a long stick and wrapped my shirt around one end. I then lit up the shirt, making a makeshift torch.
I found a clearing and used stones to make a fire pit; I didn’t want to get in trouble. I started burning sticks, leaves, flowers. Anything I could find. Soon I found my torch burning low, I had to make another. So I did the same with my pants. Slipping the last match into my underwear for safe keeping. I kept on burning things in the pit, and the fire kept getting bigger. Soon it was ten feet tall at least. That’s when I got in trouble. A sudden gust of wind hit blowing the blaze towards the trees. They lit up like dry paper. I got scared and I ran, I guess I had to run.
The fire spread faster then I ran. It surrounded me. I’d probably have lit up like my underwear did if it wasn’t for my sweat. I had to take them off; they were consumed by the fire along with my match.
I barely managed to get out of the woods. But I found myself in the middle of nowhere. I was in the vast empty rock expanse behind the woods. I would have died out there if the fire department’s chopper hadn’t found me. That officer is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere- naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. But in my defense, I was just trying to help a brother out.
New Orleans, the French Quarter is a crazy place; but more so when Mardi Gras is in town.
I had just walked out of a cabaret on Bourbon Street, fresh lipstick on my collar and a complimentary matchbook in hand.
A drunk stumbled up to me, asking for a light. As he was inhaling on his cigarette he began to cough and knocked the match from my hand just as a float passed by. The lit match, durable little thing, sparked a fire.
In the ensuing screams and mounting chaos from the float, someone managed to identify me with the matchbook.
“He set the float on fire! Get him!”
Oh, crap.
I started to run, but a guy in a police uniform tackled me. Where the hell did he come from? As we wrestled on the ground, Man, this guy gets physical, I struggled to get back to my feet. Suddenly this massive pair of ta-tas stretching the fabrical limits of a red brassiere smashed into my face. I heard, through muffled ears, demands that I be let go and a new battle ensued between the cabaret bombshell and the cop.
I was knocked back to the ground as they engaged in the strangest catfight I’ve ever seen. The cop, who was wearing some pretty tight leather pants and chaps, had his own cheering section from the drag club next to the cabaret.
Ms. Bombshell was getting the best of the Village People Cop and I found myself rooting for her, naturally. She was chest bumping him into submission, and into the alleyway between their clubs. The rest of his crew saw their buddy’s plight and started running to his rescue. I felt obliged to help my curvaceous savior so I jumped into the melee just as the rest of the cabaret emptied onto the sidewalk and ambushed the Village People. It was total insanity as lingerie, whips, chains, handcuffs, leather and lace went flying everywhere; impossible to tell what came from where. It was obvious that my team, the cabaret girls, were going to win this battle (much to my delight), until a crashing pain flared behind my eyes, and blackness took me.
When I came to I was on a pier, the sounds of Mardi Gras not far off in the distance. The sound of running water and sea gulls much closer. I rolled onto my back and saw some drunk pissing on a wall. Not quite the fountain I envisioned.
I sat up slowly, still dizzy from the hit on the head. It was then that I realized I had no clothes, no watch, no wallet, certainly no matchbook; nothing but a pair of handcuffs on my ankles.
Oh, crap.
Maybe its better that I don’t remember. Anyway, that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere…naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. So I loved fire. My love of it intensifying along with my hatred for her. When she slapped me, I burned the pain away. When, late at night, she felt me, I burned the shame away.
Now I looked up at her, walking with her back toward me. A black tower in a white, floral print dress. I looked back down at the book of matches. Suddenly, I knew exactly how to use this moment. There was only one thing to burn away. There had only ever been one thing. One thing would stay burned. I picked up the matches. I didn’t understand serendipity at the time. But, when I recall back to that fateful moment, I relish the perfect fit of the engine. I picked the book up. I was playing with fire. My burning soul was, for once, in balance. I ran up to her. She still had not noticed, not turned. I had to act before she did. She would ruin the balance, stoke the fire inside to a raging inferno, consume me from within. With shaking hands I pulled the book open. I tore off a match. She stopped. The match fell. “Doran?” Her voice, a thunderstorm, descended upon my sunny day, threatening to squelch my outer fire. My hands shook faster as I tore off another match. I held on to this one. Thunder roared; “Doran, you little shit! Where are you?” The downpour closed in; she began to turn. I blazed the match tip across the book. A hushed roar, straight from my prayers, answered the thunder. The eye of the storm rolled around, catching my own. “Doran. What in the fuck are you..” I bent, my salvation bit. My soul climbed the black tower. Thunder struck, again and again. A terrible gale knocked me to the ground. Still, my soul remained unquenched. Still, it climbed the black tower. As she held me down, she screamed as a mad woman. She slapped me in a frenzy. My soul ate her anyway. The storm rolled away from me, thunder now clapping in furious succession. I got up, noticing that my soul had come back upon me. I ran from the storm. I ran and ran, letting my soul engulf me, with its searing purity.
A true rain started. I was in a field somewhere. The rain quieted my soul, washed away my ugliness, quenched my hurt. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere-naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. So I did.
I juggle fire; that is to say, I juggle things that are on fire. I spray fire (or gasoline, to be more specific). I drink fire– flaming absinth, flaming whiskey, et cetera. I also like to light matches and see how long I can hold them before I chicken out.
That last game is the one that got me in trouble.
I was packing up my equiptment into my suitcase when I got the craving. The craving doesn’t hit too often but when it does it hits hard–really hard. Now I don’t exactly have a whole lot of money, so it’s hard to afford certain things. Certain substances (NUDGE NUDGE WINK WINK). So a man’s got to go to certain extremes to keep away the headaches. So you can imagine how I’ve been forced to travel in some shady circles because of this habit—
—well, all right. I’ll just come out and tell you, we’re all adults. I like smoking the occassional joint. I was alive in the sixties. Not my fault.—
You can imagine the types of characters I’ve had to deal with over the years. I tend to try to avoid them. They’re my creditors, so to speak. I owe them some money. So, when the craving hit, I couldn’t go to the normal people about it; I had to take some initiative. I just thought I’d take a bag-full. Just enough to keep me going until I scraped up enough money to pay the bills.
Now there’s this guy in town…he sort of runs the whole production. Sells the stuff. He’s known for being a bit of a wacko. Luck Eddie. Likes to gamble, I’ve heard, but not just blackjack; I’ve heard he’s done some pretty insane stuff, like Russian Roulette.
So to make a long story short, I found myself in this guy’s warehouse, caught red-handed. The spotlight shining right on my blushing red cheeks. They brought me straight up to Lucky Eddie. I had to admit that I was their trying to steal some pot. No use denying.
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” I remember him saying. “So I’m going to have to insist you leave town. I’m exiling you.” “Exiling me!” “Yep! You’re Dante and I’m the Medici family, if that helps.” Leave town! I wouldn’t know where to start. I’d been there all my life! I had to do something, I had to find a way to make him change his mind. So I did what had worked up ’till now: I played with fire.
I pulled out a match-box from my coat pocket. Talk about Deus ex-Machine, I know, but I always keep a matchbox.
I said, “You’re a man who likes games?” He looked at me with a smile. “You hold this,” I said, handing him one match. “And I hold this. We both strike ours at the same time. Whoever holds it longest wins. I win, I get to stay. You win, you get to strip me naked and drop me off in the middle of nowhere.” He won.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere, naked.
a little over the 500 word mark, but i cut it down as best i could
My mother always told me not to play with fire. Her warning repeated in my head as I stood there with that match between my fingers. I shouldn’t be doing this. What was I thinking? The flame crept towards my skin, and the heat intensified. My hand shook so badly that I thought the match might go out. All I had to do was let go of the match. I had made it this far. I willed myself to drop it. I couldn’t move. The smell of gasoline made my stomach turn. I shifted my weight and felt my shoes squish. They were brand new, too. It didn’t really matter anymore, but it seemed important. My clothes dripped in a steady tinkle that made me have to pee – or maybe that was just nerves. I took a deep breath. I could do this. It wouldn’t be so bad.
“I’m not playing, Mom,” I whispered, and I let go. The match fell in slow motion. I watched it hit the puddle at my feet, and I expected to see a splash. Instead I saw a blue and white flame flare, and then I saw nothing but fire. I raised my arms in alarm, waiting for the pain to hit me. It never did. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel that my clothes were slowly getting lighter. I felt dusty, and my clothes started to blow away into the air. Eventually the flames started to dissipate, and I could see again. I was still alone. No alarms were raised, no one was rushing to my aide. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The smoke was billowing into the air. I had to get moving. I had driven away from the city to avoid being seen, but that smoke would send someone eventually.
I turned toward my car, and winced. It, too, was on fire. I hadn’t walked far enough away, and some of my clothes had drifted into the air while they were still on fire. I’d forgotten to close the gas tank I’d siphoned the gas out of. I guess when you’re preoccupied about setting yourself on fire you can’t remember to plan for everything. The car exploded in a wash of light and smoke.
I sighed. Well, now I knew. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“So, now you know,” a voice said from behind me.
“That my mother sold me to the highest bidder?”
The demon smiled at me. “That I protect my interests.” He sniffed and glanced at the car. “I don’t recommend doing that again. I might not be there next time.
“If you’re not there, does that mean I can die?”
The demon shrugged. “No, but it might hurt considerably more.” Then he was gone. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I burned her first. Not the way you’re thinking, I didn’t set fire to the house or anything, I simply never grew up to be the president astronaut she was so sure I would be. Instead I graduated high school an arsonist.
My gang burned everything. Parked cars, moving cars. Party stores, Taco Bells. Hobos and Rottweillers. We even set fire to the fire department’s new brick station where they lounged around with their big screen tv and air conditioning. Our best tools were Kingsford and Bic. Sometimes I liked to use matches. I collected them, even though they were considered ancient and too unreliable. But I liked to carry a full matchbook with me, like my own personal squad of suicide bombers, right in my pocket. I could just mindlessly throw them to the front lines one at a time or send in the whole squad like a raid of fire.
That day we had climbed one of the abandoned apartment towers in our city to view the evening fireworks from the former penthouse. The dark hallways reeked of gasoline and kerosene and the sour diesel smell we all secretly love. I like to douse the stairwells on the way up to see who chickens out, or who can run the fastest on the way down. The hallways are always dark and our flashlights bounce around the graffiti and dust like rabid searchlights. I love to see the hot sun melting into the horizon at this hour. This city is the farthest city from the sun. It is always cold.
By the time I reach the roof the sky is black and blue. I think about the good times I had imagined and the awful acts I had replaced them with. The fun never died I just got cold and stayed that way. I pulled out the pack of matches I had found. They were from some furcoat and diamonds store or something, the slogan read “for the love of your life”. My head felt so heavy, like lifting it to level would roll it back off my neck. I sent everyone down the stairs, they could see it was time to go. I looked over the city, the real people were down there living, trying to love even as they lost, working for something better. I felt exposed to them on this roof. All they would have to do is point their fingers at me and I would crumble in my failures. I can burn it down. This isn’t anywhere special. Somewhere is always away from here. I realize it all now. I let the match fall from fingers.
(and that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere-naked)
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.” It’s ironic it’s that sentiment that now has me in my current predicament. Earlier today, it was as hot as chicken grease outside. Just a few more tweaks underneath this car and I’m done, I thought to myself. Finally! I sat up to breathe a sigh as I received a warm return of exhaust, mixed with sweat against the back of my throat. Drink time, reaching into the fridge I pull out that freshly made Raspberry Lemonade that Tara knows I love. She gotta be the bestest wife ever as I smirked and sat down at the table for a well deserved swig of juice. Ahhh, delicious. Some vacation. I thought to myself. Three weeks of tuning cars, silent afternoons, and no pussy. A quick glance and I noticed the matchbook on the table. No more smoking, I remembered. I promised Tara and it’s been four years since that promise. “In and Out Motel”, read the label as I sat twirling the package in my hand. That’s interesting, that motel is about an hour from here. Opening the flap I read: RM: 217, 3pm. I grabbed my cell. I call Tara. Damn Voicemail. I paused feeling the remnants of the juice in my throat. I remind myself to calm down…I yanked the keys to the Challenger off the table and within seconds I was doing 80 miles per hour on the expressway. How could she do this to me? After all the bullshit! I kicked the Challenger up to 95, it was 2:30. Cheat on me? On me?! I shifted into seventh gear, 100 mph. The cars became blurs as I sped towards Tara, The thoughts of all the nights we were together, fighting the thoughts of her body being in the arms of someone else enraged my soul! 120 mph! The mental silhouette of her bent over in that perfectly thick form of hers, I started sweating. I screech and swerve hard onto the off ramp where the In and Out was. I pulled into the parking lot. Bad boy by Shyne was pumping through the speakers. Where is that bitch? I asked myself. I looked for that damned silver Mercedes she wanted so bad. That’s my car dammit! I screamed. I headed up the stairs to the second floor. Room 239, 235, 227, 225…here it go right here. Do I knock? I’ll just stand here for a second. Just as I knocked, I recalled last Saturday. My homie Bo came to the house. He lit a cigarette, which I immediately made him put out. “Man you trying to get me trouble with my wife!?” I told him. Just as the door open, I remember the matchbook that I swatted from his hands as I scolded him. Shit, I said to myself. I was pulled aggressively into the Motel room, and knocked the fuck out. “And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked”.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. But, like so many other things she told me when I was a child, I didn’t listen. I discovered a box of matches that had fallen off a table in the diner where I was currently employed. Probably left by one of those truckers that had stopped in for a bite to eat. I tucked them into the pocket of my apron as I began to wipe down the table to ready it for the next stream of hungry visitors. Ha! Like that’s likely to happen out here in no-wheres-ville. I was sweeping the floor when I heard the bell above the door ring. “Be right with ya!”, I called. Seated in the back corner booth was a gentleman dressed in business attire. He didn’t seem to fit in around these parts. I thought to myself, he must be lost. He smiled as I rounded the corner and asked ,”what can I get ya?”. He ordered coffee and asked if I could point him in the direction of the closest Holiday Inn. I handed him the Yellow Pages and told him that the closest thing we had to a Holiday Inn around here was the Lazy Dazy Inn about two miles down the road but he was more than welcome to search the book for other options. I poured his coffee and began to walk away when he asked if I had a light. He held his cigarette poised and ready. I started to say “no, I don’t smoke”, then I remembered the box of matches in my pocket. I handed them to him and he informed me that these were not ordinary matches. They in fact were “wishing matches”. I laughed at this and made a mental note to myself to not hit the vodka so hard anymore. This guy is “LOCO” I muttered under my breath. He obviously realized that I didn’t believe him so he said, “Look, I’ll show you”. He closed his eyes and wished for some orange marmalade and hot buttermilk biscuits. Then he struck a match and to my surprise, a huge plate of hot buttermilk biscuits and a jar of orange marmalade appeared on the table in front of him. He returned the box of matches and began to gobble down his biscuits and marmalade. I thought, Man! I am losing it! I made my way to the store room in back of the diner. I could not believe what I had seen. I pulled the box of matches from my apron pocket once more and saw tiny, scribbled writing along the side. It said, ” one wish per match but be careful what you wish for because you just might get it”. Ha! This is some kind of joke! I had to try it. I closed my eyes and made a wish. I struck a match and to my delight, appeared a huge suitcase loaded with stacks of one hundred bills. “I’m rich!” I yelled. I was so excited that I began to make more and more wishes. I wished for a sporty new car and a cruise to the Bahamas. All my wishes were coming true within a matter of seconds. Then I heard the bell ring and the door slamming hard. I ran to see what was happening and the place was surrounded by FBI agents. They had the business man in cuffs and were reading him his rights. One of them started questioning me about my new sports car and other “goodies” that were sittin around the diner that I’d wished for. I was informed that these were stolen items and that the man in cuffs was on the most wanted list and that I was now considered an accomplice. I was terrified. I had never been in trouble in all my life. I made a run for it out the back door. No where much to hide out here in the desert. I had three matches left. Surely one of them could help me out of this mess. The agent was gaining on me so I only had a few minutes to make my last three wishes. I wished that the agent would slow down. Poof! Damn! Wasted that wish. Okay, well it worked… he slowed down but he’s still in pursuit. I lit the second match before I’d made my wish and tripped over a rock which caused me to catch my clothes on fire. I scrambled out of them as quick as a wink. I only had one wish left. I screamed as I lit my last match, “I wish I were anywhere but here!”. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere-naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I moved the pack of matches with the tip of my red Jimmy Choo Stilettos to reveal the logo embossed on the front of the pack. From where I stood, I could read “Players Club”, but to obtain the address I would have to pick up the pack.
I looked around nervously, and then bent to down to grab the matches making sure my newly manicured fingernails didn’t get dirty. 8221 Players Club Drive. This place must own the whole block. Well, it wasn’t where I originally planned to go on this Friday night, but why not check it out?
I straightened my black leather skirt, adjusted the push up bar under my lace camisole, and hailed a cab directing the driver to the address on the match pack.
The cab arrived and I stepped out onto a red carpet and was escorted inside the club. There was a flurry of action, and I soon learned it was the annual auction, where gentleman would bid on a ladies company for the evening, with the proceeds going to charity. I spoke with a few of the other girls and they assured me these were classy men, and it was always a fun time. I thought, why not, and signed up.
I drew third position on the block. The bidding started and three gentlemen, two old and grandfatherly, and one young and handsome were raising their auction paddles for me. It was kind of exciting. The young handsome gentleman won and thirty minutes later, his hand politely on my elbow, he walked me out of the club. He had just donated $2,500 to charity for a date with me.
The conversation was awkward at first, but after cocktails things began to flow more easily. We dined on lobster, and then took in a play at the local arts college. Afterwards, he suggested a drive to the edge of town where we could see the stars without the city lights. I agreed as he had been a perfect gentleman the entire evening.
We parked the car and he pulled another $2,500 from his pocket and laid it on the dash.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“That’s for the rest of the evening. Now take your clothes off.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not a hooker. This isn’t how I was told it worked. I was told this was a charity auction. I joined in because it seemed to beat sitting in a bar all night listening to lame pick up lines.”
He laughed and said, “Seriously, honey, you aren’t THAT naïve. Now take off your clothes.”
I was afraid so I did as he asked; removing everything except my new red Jimmy Choo stilettos which I suddenly thought to use to kick him in his thigh.
He cursed at me, reached across and opened my door and shoved me out. And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. She played with it though: In her kitchen, in the grill out back, in the fireplace, and that’s all I knew of. So why couldn’t I? When I looked up at him he was lighting a lighter over and over, staring at me, not at the flickering flame in his hand. “So what do you want?” he asked. A question to broad to answer. He was angry, again, and I knew that look. The look that said, “game on”. This time I didn’t run; rather, I walked towards him and took the lighter out of his hand.
After holding the lighter tightly, I unclenched my fists and put it down on a table. My heart was beating fast as I recalled times when the ground would shake with my screams as glass and fists hurled through his home.
Then I took off my robe, put his hand in mine and walked him to his car outside of his home in the country. Looking at me, stone-face, we got into the car. “Drive,” I said, as I let his hand go. And he did.
And that is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere — naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire, but the book of matches I was holding seemed to have a pull on me I could not describe even if I had been asked. Ah, but I have gotten ahead of myself.
My name is Bentley Alvin Cray. Momma named me after a car. Thankfully she didn’t want a Rolls Royce. She had no use for me. As long as I was quiet and hidden away, she was happy.
I saw Her three days ago in the mini mart. She was standing there chewing gum while buying pop and a candy bar. I took one look at her and I knew….it was time.
They say that in a blink of an eye a whole person’s life can change and I believe. I know what I have done cannot be undone. Now I will have to look over my should for the rest of my life wondering when my time is up.
She was pretty. Her hair was long and blonde. She looked at me, but I knew she wasn’t seeing me. No one ever sees me. I am just there, blending into the background.
I followed her back to her home. I watched as she walked down the sidewalk. She seemed to move without any effort. I took everything I had not to just grab her.
Her apartment building was across from the park. I sat on a park bench and watched the building for hours. I heard her laughing on the front steps with her friends. Her name was AnnaBelle and she was in 3B. That’s what I heard her tell the guy who was chatting her up for a date. To bad he was going to be disappointed.
She was mine now and would be forever. I had surprised her when she came into the park. I wasn’t going to take her there, but she walked right past me and I couldn’t control myself anymore.
I got her in the van before anyone noticed. She tried to fight, but it was over before it got started. She didn’t want to play with me, but that’s okay. I got from her exactly what I wanted. In the end, she saw me. I was not some invisible person lurking in the background, but then it all had to end.
I had seen enough crime shows on television to know I had to make sure no evidence remained. Fire seemed the most likely choice. It was then I realized I would have to burn my clothes as well.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire, but then she didn’t want me wearing her taffeta dresses either; I think she didn’t like the fact that I looked better in her wardrobe than she did.
By the way, my name is Harry Steptoe Blair. I was named Harry, or Harold, really, after my mother’s brother; Blair is her family name, my being the surprise result of Woodstock 69. From where the Steptoe came, I haven’t a clue.
Twenty-six years later, I was Mary Hairy Steptoe, performing on the drag circuit, my B.S degree securely tucked away in a safe deposit box. The idea of traipsing off to a laboratory every day, performing the same experiment every day, noting the same results every day, for the rest of my life, was as appealing as a brain injury. Give me bright lights, pretty clothes and an audience any day and not necessarily in that order, even if it is in dumb-fart suburbia.
The money is good. I leave the celebrity impressions, like Mae West, Streisand, et al, to the creatively challenged. I do original characters. My Hope Eterna, the gawky thirty-five year old virgin who wants to be a baton twirler leading parades, practicing baton twirling as she talks to a classmate about events in her life, is always a huge hit. The nasal voice, my hairy arms and legs in a cheerleader top and skirt, the drum majorette hat with the huge feathery feathers, always gets me an encore.
It’s my Venus De Milo that got me in trouble. Venus De Milo is an armless sculpture, with slipping drapery. Her shtick is to bitch about all the things she could do if she has arms. She is a difficult costume. My left arm is fastened behind my back, my right folded up and encased in cast. I’m bare-chested, except for hair and a white strapless bra and my falling drapery is carefully pinned.
The final bit of this scenario involves her enticing some guy onto the stage to give and light her a cigarette. Hopefully, he’s left his lighter at his table, because part of the fun is to have him dig under my drapery to find a book of matches.
I’ve enticed some cute little blond boy; it’s his first time in a bar, let alone a drag show. I get him to feel around, to audience delight, for a bit, engage him in a bawdy dialog and finally direct him to where the matches are. He pulls one out and lights it…
Suddenly, “This is a raid!”
His eyes leap wide. The whole match book catches fire; he jerks his arm up and tosses the matches into my wig. Trying to put out the wig, he sets fire to my costume. When order is restored, I’ve been drenched and my costume has been sent blazing to that great closet in the sky.
And that, Officer, is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.”
Well written.
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.”
The dull voice edged its way into my awareness. I put down my book and up with a hesitant polite smile. The speaker appeared to be a person bound by rules – don’t play with fire, don’t talk to strangers, don’t have too much fun – he was a gray little man, no color whatsoever. Poor thing. “My mother never told me that. She said to respect fire but not to fear it and that some of the best times of her life came with playing with fire.”
“Then this is for you,” the man said with a groan. He tossed me a book of matches and walked out. I picked them up, you never knew when you might need a match. The cover read, “Porter’s – Home of Timeless Jazz.” A nearby address was below a drawing of a saxophone.
The door creaked as I entered the cool darkness of the small jazz club. Funny, I thought, I live on this street and walk by here every day and yet I never noticed this place. I shrugged. I was a professor and not noticing my surroundings were an important part of my professional demeanor. My mind was in ancient Egypt these days – researching where my body couldn’t follow.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a voice quipped. “There’s many a tune in this old ‘verse.” The speaker went back to preparing for his next set. I ordered a scotch and sat down. I loved jazz. “Name’s Salah Ragab and I’d like to play the latest and sweetest tune from Cairo.”
Egyptian jazz? I thought. Curiouser and curiouser.
I opened the door, expecting cool California air to beckon me into the sunset streets. Instead I was hit with a blast of heat and squinted through the blinding light. A crocodile slide into the huge river a few yards in front of me and a reed boat floated downstream in a desultory way. I looked at my clothing and thought that it could only work against me. “And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.”
498.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. It’s a pity the local boys’ mothers didn’t give them the same advice. If she did, they never listened.
Effortless and unbidden the memories returned as I waited, scantily clad, seated in a director’s chair fingering a box of Redheads. As a result of their firebug antics my house burnt down when I was in the next town getting my passport photo done. While I was there, a visiting photographer guy handed me a card urging I ring without delay, that Genevieve might have work for me. Apparently I had “the look”.
Ring I did, and was told to come. Being discovered is every girl’s dream and I never once believed it could happen to me. Genevieve was falling all over herself with delight, proclaiming me the next Miranda Kerr. Cheeks like a chipmunk and legs like a sculpture. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my parents, hoping they’d see the legitimacy on offer and not the seedy side.
Ha. If only I’d not been so naive.
I arrived home to discover my house was gone and my parents were taken with it. There would be an investigation with hell to pay when the arsonists were uncovered, but all this meant for me was that after my immediate grief was assuaged, I would be utterly on my own. My adoptive parents were the only ones I’d ever known. They’d brought me from India and that’s all I knew.
Not long after the fire, Genevieve was ready to pounce and I was ready to be loved. The shoots started instantly, ensuring my cataclysmic rise to fame. The world loved but couldn’t soothe me. By the grace of God I did manage to elude the seedy side for the better part, but there was always someone ready to take advantage of my proportions. How wrong was it to resign myself that lingerie and swimwear shoots weren’t all bad, that they weren’t clashing with my inner moral compass?
Quickly this became the life I never expected, the life every girl never actually truly wants. I could do the job and make brands like D&G look fantastic, but at heart I remained the teen who’d lost her parents in a fire. Perhaps everyone loved me more because of it. Whatever.
All I knew was that I was fast losing my own identity and I needed it back. Was there any chance I could trace my roots? All the way back to India? Surely it was possible.
Until then, I was working as clotheshorse for Moontide. Striking the pose I still found a little too suggestive, I might as well be naked. I always blamed the fire when I was in situations like this. The beach was awesome, but the day was long. Everything in my life was prearranged for me. All I had to do was show up.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
Playing With Fire
By
Sheila Brandon
500
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.” Her words of caution were far from being the first thing on my mind right now. The skinny tires of the racing bicycle made whizzing sounds on the pavement as I rode leaning forward on the handle bars in the best position of least wind resistance. I followed Miss Dee Wilson on her green racing bicycle toward Beaver Dam Hill as we raced in the Dogwood Festival that the town of Pleasant Hill held every year. With the responsibility of being sponsored by the City Police Department I tried desperately to keep my mind off of her firm hips that were dancing to the aerobic movements of her long legs as they moved up and down on the pedals.
I had tried every maneuver that was known to get past her before the dreaded Beaver Dam Hill. The Beaver Dam Hill is where you become one of the race finishers or you were left pushing your bike in the emergency lane. Miss Dee a sixteen year-old who could flash those deep blue knowing eyes at me and without a word spoken aloud could leave my face still blushing the next day. My fellow officers had a special punishment planned if I lost this race to her.
Losing to Miss Dee a girl from the wrong side of town and not sponsored by anyone would be an embarrassment to the Pleasant Hill Police Department. Sweat rolled down my body as I tried to keep my mind on the race while the male body had a mind of its own. Push, Push with all the strength in my legs I could feel the slow incline in progress. Pedaling rapidly, I tried desperately to pick up speed. Miss Dee a basketball center was just right there nearly directly across from me. My arm could have reach out and touched her, but instead I watched the muscles in her long strong legs as they rippled and expand as the incline began to tell our bodies that the Dam Hill had begun.
The Beaver Dam Hill was a long steep incline with six steep uphill curves. With sweat pouring off our bodies we pumped the pedals and her glancing smile mouthed, “Come on, Come on.” Half way up the Dam Hill I knew that Miss Dee’s youth made me an old man, and suddenly as she smiled back one more time. I felt like an old, old man at 26-years-old. As I pushed the bicycle in the emergency lane I wondered what my punishment would be. With her knowing smile Miss Dee looked at me from the winners circle.
My fellow officers of the Pleasant Hill Police Department found their punishment for me embarrassing the police department. Now as I walk carefully through the cotton field of large knee height thorny cotton plants. I once again blush. “And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere_naked.”
My mother always told me to not play with fire and I guess she had her reasons. Except, she didn’t understand the lure of the flame as it jumped off of the black strip. The rush of power I felt as the flames licked at my fingers. It was pure euphoria.
I lit a match. My eyes grew wide as the fire rapidly ate the paper stick and came to rest on my thumb. “Ow,” and I flicked my thumb. It ached a little but the power was scrumptious. I gazed at my thumb, there wasn’t even a mark. “Wow, this is awesome!” I grinned.
The intense power of fire, it could reduce a candle to a pool of wax, without hurting me. “Wow, wow, wow…cool. I’m invincible against fire,” my grin become a teeth filled smile. I felt like the Joker.
The ignited match lay forgotten on the carpet as I investigated my thumb further.
The match turned into a ember, which swiftly became a small fire that caught and suddenly transformed into an ribbon of fire that stretched across the carpet. The heat radiated up my body and I ate the power of it like a chocolate bar on a bad day.
Briefly lost in my sense of power, I finally understood that my fascination with fire may destroy my home. I had no regret. No spark of remorse as the ribbon of fire swiftly reduced the carpet to useless pieces of plastic.
I started to giggle, “hahahaha!”
The couch was the first victim to the ribbon fire. The flames caressed the bottom of the couch and extended the six feet to lovingly touch the chair, both pieces of furniture illuminated the house in an orange glow. The immaculate furniture set turned into loose, dark ash. ” S’mores, anyone?!”
“Aw, my poor parents’ lovely home. Nearly gone! They will be so depressed,” my laugh turned from a giggle to an uncontrollable cackle.
The flames raced up the wall and ate away the pristine white paint and turned it into a weird, wet gooey consistency. Like bird crap splattered on a car windshield, EW!
I heard the fire engine’s loud, annoying horns coming closer. One of my neighbors had called 911. “Bummer!”
The television set and the awesome, don’t touch young lady, stereo ensemble melted.
The inferno swirled around me and I suffered no pain. Only deep satisfaction that my loving (ha!) parents would finally feel the pain I have felt all these years. The neglect. The brushing off. The destruction. “Karma, mom and dad. KARMA!”
I heard the punch on the front door. The firemen were busting their way in to save the day. “Go ahead, save the materialistic owners!” I screamed over the cracking of the wooden beams above my head. The house was collapsing around me.
I looked down at myself. I was free!
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere—naked.
“My mother always taught me not to play with fire!” Ashley hissed as I pulled book after book of matches from my pocket.
“And?” I quickly dropped them in a scattered pile on the ground. “Of course, any mother would say that – it’s their job.”
I ignored any further protest as I slowly entered the garage, allowing a moment for my eyes to adjust.
“Where are you?” I quietly rambled to myself, rummaging through the old pile of sporting goods in the corner.
I quickly detected my dads old tennis racket and a fresh tube of Penn tennis balls before running back outside. I nearly tripped as I rounded the corner in a skid, quickly grabbing the edge of the door jab for stability.
It was a beautiful day to play with fire, scattered rays sunlight broke through the clouds as I squatted down over my pile of matches. I pulled the metal tab sharply and broke the seal before taking a large breath of the fresh florescent spheres, as Ashley looked on with a scornful gaze upon her face.
If I wasn’t going to listen to my own mother why would I care what she thought? I reasoned.
I easily tore a match from the casing, pinching the match between the folds. I pulled with little effort as the tip burst to flame, followed by a small puff of white smoke.
“Your going to get us both in trouble!” Ashley detested – though obviously curious.
After a few failed attempts to coax the ball into what I’d hoped to be a blazing ball of fury I upped the ante – returning to the garage once more with a kerosine lantern.
“I know, I know.” I objected quickly before she had a chance to squander my flaring concept. “I wouldn’t dare do something so bold this close to home.”
“What does that mean?” she asked confused.
“Lets go up to the query!” I said excited. “It’ll be much safer there don’t you think?”
Ashley just stood unmoving, criticizing me with her eyes – arms folded across her chest.
“What?” I gasped.
“How do think you think you will get there?” She quickly parried.
“The train goes right by there.” I started to pack everything up in my knapsack. “We’ll be back by dinner.”
“We? No, no, no I’m staying right here.”
It was the first time I had taken public transportation by myself so it was no surprise my friend was in such protest. As ill advised as my plan was there was no stopping me, I broke my piggy bank hopped on the train.
I didn’t recall what stop I finally exited but there was definitely no query, old rundown shacks littered a sparse forest and I decide it would have to do.
Long story short, that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
493 Words
Sorry, I did this at work between calls – later realizing a sperling error and a couple of missing words at the end
419 words!
“My mother always told me not to play with fire.”
The police officer glanced at me as if I were crazy.
“Ma’am, what do you mean?”
I smirked, regret covering my lips as I spoke, “My last words before the explosion. My last words before my thoughtless mind told me to pick up that box of matches.”
Closing his notepad, the deputy cleared his throat.
“Sir, do you know what happened after that?”
“Oh yes. Yes I can,” I paused and looked up into his eyes. False strength glazed over his eyes, looking back at me with fear hidden in his pupils. “As I lifted the box, there was a note that fell from the bottom. Consequently, I was more interested in the combustion that a simple box and a little stick of wood just because of a little friction.” I cleared my throat and took a sip of water. “The wind blew, and a cold chill came upon me.”
“Sir, it is fifty degrees out, and when we found you, nothing was on you,” he reassured me.
“I know, officer. Now please, let me finish.”
A simple nod noted me I could continue. “The note blew over to a man that was standing a couple yards away. I didn’t notice him until the rise of his lighter’s flame grabbed the pyromaniac that dwelled inside of me.”
“What did the note say, sir?” The police officer asked.
“Hell if I know. I just wanted to light the damn match,” I sighed. “But whatever it is was, it sure as hell pissed him off. He ran towards me and grabbed my throat, knocking the box of matches out of my hand.” I shuttered at the reminiscing pain reappearing around my neck. “He whistled, and two men came from a car parked a few feet behind from where he was. They grabbed me and threw me into the trunk, taking my beloved box of matches.”
“And then you were taken to the place we found you, correct?”
“A couple miles from that, yes. They stripped me naked and burned my clothes with the box of matches I had found.” I gritted my teeth, “They pushed my down and threw my shoes in the backseat of their car, got in and drove off…” My eyes drew a blank stare.
“Sir-”
“And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.”
^I went from ‘ma’am’ to ‘sir’. It’s supposed to be ‘sir’.xD
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I thought she was nuts. Fire was pretty. It made warmth. So, when I was stocking my car for camping, I wasn’t worried too much about what kind of matches I packed. I thought: They’re all the same, right?
I climbed into the beat up old Nissan – that I was probably expecting too much from – and meandered slowly into the backwoods of Virginia. I arrived at the spot I decided to call a campsite at around midday or a little after. I tossed my bags on the ground next to the trunk, took a breath of fresh air, and promptly began to hack and wheeze.
I’m a smoker. What’s your point?
I set up the camp site, taking special care to follow all of the instructions in my second hand scout guidebook. I swear, there has never been a scout as diligent as I…. Even if I have never set foot outside a city before.
I hadn’t unpacked most of my bags. They were still by the truck. But it was getting late – and I wanted food – so I set to work. I stacked the wood in approximately the proper manner, and worked on lighting a fire in my lovely little camp. I’m not sure if the wood was wet, the wind was too hard, or it was just too haphazard an arrangement for a self-respecting fire. It would not light.
I jammed some more leaves in and finally managed to get the thing to smoke, though it didn’t seem to be emitting the traditional fiery beauty that all city slickers dream of. By this point I was ready to eat my arctic-rated sleeping bag. So, I tossed the half open box of matches next to my pack and dug a candy bar out of my pocket to munch on as I stared at the Logs of Doom™.
I don’t know if one match struck another, or it just happened to fall out and hit a rock at just the right angle, but my strike-anywhere matches decided that they just had to show me how it’s done. I realized what was happening at about the point my back started to get warm – from the fire consuming my jacket. I was an honor student in school, but thinking on my feet is something of a hassle. Instead of “STOP-DROP-ROLL,” my mind screamed: “STRIP!”
I proceeded to do so, posthaste.
That wouldn’t have been so bad, if the first fire wasn’t happily devouring my packs and making tentative – though suggestive – licks at my car. The fire from the clothes I had been wearing went out quickly, but the bags took an hour. It took three more hours for me to feel safe enough to approach the vehicle. Luckily, I didn’t start a wildfire.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I’d never heeded her advice, but somehow I don’t think even she could have foretold the consequences of my noncompliance. It began, as problems often do, with a seemingly benign object: a pack of matches. This pack was ordinary in every way it’s possible for a pack of matches to be ordinary – plain cardboard pack with plain cardboard coloring, rows of flat matches lined carefully inside, and a thin strip on which to send them into flame.
I‘d come into possession of the matches from an acquaintance (and I use the term loosely) at a bar the night before. Having watched him flip the pack in and out of his nimble fingers for over an hour, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, curiosity had prompted me to ask if he ever intended to light the damn thing.
“Oh this?” he asked, taking the cigarette from his lips while still flipping the pack of matches. “I don’t have a light.”
“You’re holding a book of matches,” I pointed out, beginning to wonder if his elevator stopped a bit shy of the top floor.
“Oh these?” He said, holding the matches up to the bar’s smoky lamplight. “These don’t light cigarettes.” I flicked my black zippo lighter on, holding it out so he could slide the end of the cigarette into the waxy flame.
“What do they do then?”
“They burn out disbelief.”
“Disbelief in what?” I snorted. I was trying not to laugh – he seemed very serious – but it was a near thing. He smiled then, as if I had asked something terribly funny.
“Well now, that depends on the person.”
“Well what did they burn out of you?”
He shook his head. “The journey through disbelief is personal. Not to be spoken of. You remember that when you wake up tomorrow.”
Just then the bartender approached, a shapely thing, all glossy brown hair and wide green eyes. I was momentarily distracted. When she left I turned back to the man, set on asking him what in the devil he meant.
He was gone.
I shrugged – the bartender was more interesting than a conversation with a crazy man anyway – and drew out a cigarette, fumbling for the zippo. I frowned when I couldn’t find it – I’d replaced it after lighting the man’s cigarette. The zippo wasn’t to be found, but the small book of matches was.
Heedless of the man’s warning I struck a match, touching flame to cigarette. I inhaled once before the flame died, then went slipping out of consciousness.
I woke among cactuses and scraggly trees, curled up snuggly to an unfriendly looking rattlesnake, everything made all the more serious for the fact I seemed to have lost all the clothing I’d been wearing. Curiously, my right hand was flipping the book of matches in and out of my fingers, quite without my consent.
And that’s how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
Nice. I like the creativity in your story.
wow !!! that was amazing it kept me very intrigued. great creativity!!!
My mother always told me not to play with fire, but as usual, I did not listen to her. As a child, I would watch my mom light up her cigarette about twenty-five times a day, and sit mesmerized by the little flame at the tip of her lighter. When she was not looking, I would take the lighter out of her purse and play with it for hours.
As an adult, I am still fascinated with fire – the way it dances, the colors, smells, and the way it consumes everything in its path. On this particular evening, I was sitting in front of my fire pit in the back yard admiring the dancing flames. I was on my fourth beer and feeling pretty relaxed when my neighbor came through the gate in the fence separating our yards. He seemed a little anxious, so I offered him a cold beer. He declined and pulled out a gun and aimed it at my head.
I asked him what the hell he was doing and he responded with an accusation that I had been sleeping with his wife. I denied it, but I had actually been sleeping with her every time he went out of town over the last year. He didn’t buy my denial. He told me to get up and head to his garage, so I complied rather than having my brains blown out.
As I was being driven to God-knows-where in the trunk of my neighbor’s car, I was beginning to realize that when my mother told me not to play with fire, she also meant not to sleep with my neighbor’s wife. Reflecting on her comment made me think of her lighter, which reminded me that I had a lighter in my pocket. I pulled it out and pushed down on the button and it produced a bright orange flame which illuminated the trunk. Looking around for a weapon, I discovered a can of bug spray. I was thinking this would be a nice neighborly surprise when the trunk popped open.
The car came to a stop and the driver’s door opened. My neighbor made his way to the trunk, crunching gravel as he walked. I heard the key push into the lock and readied the lighter and bug spray. As the lid came up, I clicked the lighter and sprayed the bug spray toward my neighbor and watched has he burst into flames. As he stumbled away screaming, I wrestled myself out of the trunk. To my horror, he came right for me and grabbed me in a bear hug, setting my cloths on fire. I kneed him in the groin and he went down in a heap of flames. I wasted no time stripping off my burning clothes which were quickly being consumed and tossed them on top of my burning neighbor.
And that is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.
Good job! I didn’t expect that ending, at all:)
My mother always told me not to play with fire. I never did listen. The matches, unfortunately lit, burned my fingertips as I tried to extinguish them as I had seen the older boys do at school. When the trick was finally learned, I kept up the injuring actions. Every so often the tips of my fingers would be licked to ease the paining sensation. It wasn’t long before playing with my crispy fingers in the flame was enough to satiate my curiosity for all things fiery.
The first victims were the tissues I carried in my backpack, then the old notes from school that I no longer needed. The satisfying crunch and crinkle as the words were dissolved from the page, the white paper turned to an ashen grey, was addicting, forcing me to add more and more to the pile of burning homework. Once the crusty papers from the science class gone wrong – a fault of mine that I was still trying to dodge comments on – I had no more fuel. Ah, the days of trying to find something to sacrifice to the pyro gods had come. At home, there were so many different things, more papers, firewood for the fireplace, so many wonderful treasures to torch.
My better judgment kicked in about the time I got home and saw Mom cooking up dinner. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to set flame to anything while she was around…after all, it was her that had been the harbinger of doom on me when I had even hinted at touching the glowing goodness I was now hooked on like a druggie. I managed to slink up the stairs when her back was turned, her attention focused on the dinner that wasn’t cooking right. Up in my room, there were so many different things that I could use for my pursuits of flame: old clothes I never wore, the sandwich from last month that was stuffed under my bed, those weird gifts that people gave me I never used (I mean, come on, who uses a underwear drying rack?). Everything that I could stuff into my backpack was stuffed, along with the offending pack of matches that was now my best friend. Every time I thought back on the sounds it made as it ate up the papers was prompting me with dark whispers to burn more, to offer up more. I couldn’t resist.
Back down the stairs I went, backpack slung over my shoulder. Mom didn’t notice (again) as I slipped out the front door, grabbed my bike from the garage, and took off down the road. There was a field a few miles out, and I knew no one would see me there as I continued on my curious capers. The field was, sure enough, empty. I couldn’t resist. I burned everything, from my full backpack, to the sudden urge to burn my clothing. And that is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere – naked.