Ignition

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

Most of my days consisted of being trapped, hidden in Adele’s underwear drawer. Adele saw me as a dangerous object, something exhilarating that her parents associated with rebellion and anarchy. Adele had not been weathered by the harshness of reality at this stage, she had only seen twelve summers. It was my entire fault that the zeal in her life was destroyed or ignited, and I could do nothing to stop her.

“Adele, Adele!” A voice hollered from downstairs. “Be back by seven, daylight saving has finished and I don’t want you roaming the streets in the dark.” The young girl responded by slamming the green flyscreen door on her way out.

I could feel the heat radiating from Adele’s body. It wasn’t a temperate day; it was actually quite cool for this time of year, the electricity in the air filled Adele with excitement. The sun was still high in the sky, blearing down on the young girl, but this was not what made sweat trickle down the length of her spine. Adele was scared.

Three others were in the distance. Adele raised the hand in which I was in and moved four fingers gesturing her arrival.
Needing a tissue but not having one, she ran her fingers below her moist noise before she reached the others who were waiting her arrival.

Not only did these people look physically older; their eyes sank back into their heads more than Adele’s. They had experienced something she had not.
“Did you bring the lighter?” One spat out, pulling the strap of her bag up over her pre-pubescent shoulder. No one else spoke but a crow in the near distance. The field was empty but still Adele was scared.
“Yeah.” Mumbled Adele as she ran her finger across me, sparking flames from across my mouth.
“Good.” The one with the weathered green eyes said. At this point I was snatched from Adele’s clammy hands into the palms of a stranger.
I was a symbol of the life Adele wanted to live and now she wasn’t in control of me. She had the opportunity to run.

The young ones ignited their stolen smokes by using me, they didn’t even thank Adele. Huddled in a corner behind the public toilets, walls were draped in incomprehensible words, these children allowed me to destroy Adele’s youth.
One of the older girls heaved myself and a cheap cigarette back into the clammy hands.
“Your turn baby.” One of them said in a mocking tone.
I couldn’t stop her. She had the control. For all of those months where I was kept hidden in her favourite pair of argyle socks she was safe. But now, in the autumn afternoon light, Adele lit something inside herself as well as in reality.

I hated knowing that it was on that green autumn’s afternoon when I had changed Adele. It was unintentional of course. Not only couldn’t I stop her; it was a physical impossibility as I am merely a lighter.

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