Accidental Pyromaniac

The sun was just shining through the windows over the sink as Scott dried the last few of the family's lunchtime Corelle Ware dishes. The green clock numbers on the stove read 1:09. Thirteen-year-old Kerry took note of the time as she made her way towards the back porch. She was on her way to the summer house for some of her off season school supplies. (The family was home schooling at this point, though they were on summer vacation. They completed a large amount of their schooling task in the summer house.) She had an “art” project on her personal agenda for the afternoon and found the household supplies lacking. 

As she walked through the back porch, a large scented candle on the top of a cabinet caught her eye. She paused mid-stride to watch the flickering flame for a moment. That moment turned into another moment because she saw a container of rubber cement on the other side of their sink.

“Hmm,” she mused to herself as she pushed her better judgment from her consciousness. “I've never tried that contraption before. (She meant concoction.)”

She picked up the rubber cement and unscrewed the lid. She pulled the brush from the container, watching the stream of glue slowly flow back into the container. She carried the bottle over to the cabinet that held the candle. Without taking a single micro-second to consider the consequences, she held the rubber cement wand above the candle. The small flame of the candle flared considerably as the adhesive met with it's flickering point. Kerry watched in awe, completely thrilled with the results of her experiment. 

Her excitement turned to mild concern as the flame of the candle seemed to climb up the glue towards her fingers. Her fingers twitched slightly as she struggled with the decision of what she should do with her growing wand of flame. She picked up the bottle of glue just as the rising fire reached the bristles of the brush and made a hurried attempt to shove the brush back in the bottle. The remaining glue within the bottle flamed to life almost immediately. She dropped the bottle on the top of the cabinet as the heat of her hand-held fire grew to an intensity beyond her ability to bare. Finally, with the severity of the situation having grown beyond her ability to control, she called for help.

“Fire! Help there's a fire!” she cried out, not knowing who would respond.

Scott appeared in the doorway of the back porch almost immediately. He had an open bag of all-purpose flower in his right hand and a look of considerable concern on his face. He rushed over to the cabinet as his mother filled the doorway in his absence. He grabbed the candle and the flaming rubber cement bottle in turn and dropped them into the sink. As soon the burning containers hit the flat bottom of the sink, the seventeen-year-old dusted the burning masses with a considerable layer of flour. 

“That was so stupid! I don't know why I did that! That was so stupid!” Kerry exclaimed as the flames died down.

“Yeah Kerry,” her older brother replied. “It really was.”

Scott sprinkled the contents of the sink with a little more flour for good measure as Christa stood in the doorway with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide in unadulterated surprise. The last remaining flicker of flame struggled for air and fuel as it dwindled out of existence. The smell of smoke, rubber cement, and artificial vanilla hung thick in the air as the dramatic tension faded. All three participants in the pyro-event slowly surveyed the damage. The smoldering contents of the sink became an clumpy slimy mixture of adhesive, flour, and candle wax. The ceiling above the cabinet and sink was stained from the smoke. Christa opened the back porch door to allow the room to air out as Scott walked towards the kitchen.

“Welp,” Scott commented as he walked through the doorway. “Looks like you have a mess to clean up, Lizzy.”