We all have memories...
Well, shit. That's a shitty way to start a blog post off. It sounds really, really dumb. Of course we all have memories. Shit...
What was I saying?
Oh yeah...
So, we all have memories, obviously. This "we" does indeed include "me". However, because of what I like calling my "creative impulses", my memories lack a lot of reliability, and the older the memory the less likely it is to be real. That's right. I remember things that may not have ever happened AS IF THEY DID! That's like a superpower. I even feel emotions and shit regarding events that MAY NOT ACTUALLY BE REAL! And I truly believe that they happened, even though I am incredulous about some. I mean, I know they happened, in my soul and in the way they have shaped the person I am, but I don't know if they are real.
That makes no fucking sense...I guess a better way to put it would be to say that I am like a character in my own narrative. I believe that the events of said narrative are real, regardless of whether or not they are fiction. However, I am aware of the fourth wall and, because of this, can question the veracity of my own life.
Wow, that was almost clever. UNICORN DANCE CELEBRATION! *proceeds to perform said event*
Anywho, I would like to tell the story of one of these memories. I truly believe this happened. However, it seems...unbelievable. Like it can't really have happened. But I know it did.
When I was, oh, seven or eight, I suppose, I was over at a friend's house and we were all like "YEAH, LET'S GO RUN AROUND THE HOUSE AND BREAK SHIT AND STUFF". I'm not sure if this is what we actually did, but I do have a distinct impression that we 1) built a fort out of couch cushions, 2) had nerf guns, and 3) were chased for a brief period by a sibling.
Anyways, we were inside because it was raining out, otherwise we would have far earlier been shuffled into the yard to wrestle the dog and scare the neighbours with our dangerous antics (sometimes they involved BLADES! We were awesome like that).
This mild rain rapidly grew to a downpour, and then a storm, and then (dare I say it) a THUNDERSTORM! Mighty Zeus and Divine Thor had blessed us with their presence. And we were all like "THUNDER? LIGHTNING? AWESOME!" (Because children can only yell).
However, we were less enthused about the ensuing loss of power. His house was big and when the power went out, it got DARK.
So his mum and dad decide to let us help them put up candles around the house while we wait for the power to come back. We rapidly ran around, setting up candles. His dad would then proceed to enter the rooms, rearrange our candles in a less haphazard fashion and would then light them.
I can't remember if it was DURING our candle lighting or after, but at some point, I entered a room that had already gone through the whole process. It happened to be his brother's room, where they kept the hamster. The hamster's cage was on the floor near the bookshelf, and a candle burned on said shelf. I like to think that I opened the door and the ensuing gust knocked that candle from it's perch, but more likely I SLAMMED the door open and it hit the shelf, toppling the candle down.
I saw what was going to happen, but couldn't look away. The candle fell, it's exposed flame leaping viciously into the air. There was the hamster's cage, filled with woodchips. Beautiful, dry, FLAMMABLE woodchips. And there was the hamster, asleep, not understanding it's doom.
The woodchips caught on fire, obviously.
Now, what I should have done was just open the cage and grab the hamster before those first few embers became an inferno. What I did instead was run downstairs, screaming, and blubber about burning hamsters to my friend's mother. In a moment, we were upstairs (although, in hindsight, it was probably more like three or four minutes, because it took me so long to explain).
What we found has shocked and horrified me to this day. The poor little hamster, never having seen fire, had walked INTO the small blaze. His fur had ignited like a little ball of try twigs. I have no idea how long it took that hamster to die, but what we found was a still burning lump of flesh.
I had accidentally incinerated my friend's brother's hamster. More than that, I had CREMATED it's corpse. The way I remember it, it looked like a miniature version of the skeletons of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru in Star Wars: twisted in agony, it had known it's fate.
To this day, I bear the lessons learned from the death of that little fuzzball. The first, practice fire safety. The second, never trust a candle. The third, keep an eye on your back, because, however unlikely it may sound, hamsters have big families, and you never know when revenge might be on your trail.
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