Great stories there, reminds me of my own experience with fire. Are you sitting comfortably? Lovely.
Around 10 years ago, my best friend and I used to skip school a lot. Trust me, I don't think we missed much. We used to go down to an area behind a very small 'industrial estate', as they called it, but it was more like a couple of small clothing factories and a garage. We went there because there was a good section of trees at a steep hill maybe 20 or 25 feet high, and the trees had grown some really comfortable branches.
So one day we arrived to see that the trees and hill had been almost entirely covered in scrap material from one of the factories. It was like 50 pinatas had just exploded. Thin streamers of cotton or whatever it was had made the climb up to the trees impossibly dangerous, but did that stop us? Of course not, we were teenagers!
We sat there until lunchtime was almost over (traditionally it was only the afternoon we skipped, since the register was very often not sent to the office and the absence was never logged), and then my pyromaniac side got the better of me. At that point I rarely went anywhere without a supply of matches (it was really good if a hot girl was looking for a light and you could strike one and hold it out for her), so I decided to see if the material burned. The strip I held to the match went up after a little encouragement. Lovely.
I already know what you're thinking, but it gets better. I went a little up the hill and attempted to light one of the bundles of material. It went up and that was that. Although I couldn't help but notice that bundle of material was quite close to another bundle of material. And another. And yes, another. So I watched as the strips of cotton slowly created a burning spiderweb around us and began to realise that my fine creation was getting a little...heated. I stood back, looking at my masterpiece, wondering when it was likely to burn out, starting to hope it might be soon.
Not one to stand back and let me have all the fun, my friend goes into his backpack and pulls out...a can of deodorant. We all love a firework show, right? He lets it rip and we marvel at the awesome CHIORRRRRRR sound as it travels 3 feet and sets light to a couple of cardboard boxes we hadn't noticed.
Of course, he held the button down a little too long, and the flames travelled up the spray as well. "F*ck!" he yells, burning his hands and throwing the can away. Away, of course, being into the flames at the base of the hill, where temperatures must have been nearing those that would make a hardened steelworker sweat.
Hearing the metal of the tin start to crinkle and watching the black paint peel off, we decide there's only one responsible adult course of action. Of course we run, d'you think we're nuts? Behind us, the flames started to take hold to the trees and the creaking of the deoderant can gives in to a little WHOOMP sound as we round the corner.
Stinking of smoke and a little jumpy, we headed back to school, the ultimate alibi. We sit in maths, listening as at least one fire engine hurtles towards something hopefully unrelated. Yes sir, x and y, square roots, algebra, what box? Oh right, 3 cubic metres, sir.
The next day we went back, and the material was gone. In it's place was a tar-like black coating on all the trees, and a heavy sense of impending arrest. Thankfully it never happened, but we did stop going down that area quite so much. And to think, that was BEFORE we started smoking dope at lunch times instead... But that's another story
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