Pyro Meet Sheer Stupidity/Peer Pressure

Dalziel found himself celebrating his birthday with his friends at his house. He was very last minute in his planning and found himself calling people up at the last minute and asking them if they could come. It was the Saturday of the 1^st full week of summer, Dalziel spent most of his time going around to people’s houses and chilling, but when alone for the small snippets of the day, would simmer in his own thoughts and become saddened by the massive void of free time that seemed to pervade throughout his whole summer.

He had tried to get a job long ago in March, but the silly company took forever to respond and Dalziel went through many actions in attempts to raise the company’s awareness of his availability. When June swung around, Dalziel found himself desperate and also applied to Staples. Still simmering, Dalziel needed to find a way to un-isolate himself and surround himself with the company of others.

Thus, this last-minute “birthday party” was thrown together. It all seemed to be going well, a decent number of people showed up, they arrived and chilled in the basement for a while. Playing Wii for a bit, but then after awhile, the allure of the Wii started to wear off and the party moved upstairs and outdoors; out into the driveway of Dalziel and his street style un-used basketball hoop.

Dalziel never was really interested in basketball, but he still enjoyed watching his friends play and screaming at the amazing and not so amazing moves pulled off by his friends. But then after another small window of time, basketball started to get boring as well so as Dalziel walked around his garage in an attempt to find something to do, his eyes passed over the Poland Springs Bottle filled with pure ethanol; a highly flammable substance. So Dalziel went inside to find some matches or a lighter. After futilely rummaging through the drawers in his cabinets, Dalziel remembered that his dad had kept some sort of “special” matches from a high class restaurant in the china cabinet. Dalziel grabbed the matches and the alcohol, and walked back out onto the driveway where his friends where still playing basketball. He moved down the driveway a bit from where they were playing, poured some alcohol on the driveway, and threw a match on it. The ethanol immediately burst into a deep red/orange color. The strange color of the flame mesmerized Dalziel as he stared wonderingly into the depth of the fire.

As the ethanol started to burn out, Dalziel quickly poured some more out into the pile and then realized that he was messing up his driveway. So he ran inside and got a cup of water and doused the ground on which he had been burning. After the dousing, Dalziel realized he was burning the special matches like no tomorrow, so inside the house he went in search of a candle to minimize the usage of the matches. He emerged once again with a lit candle in hand and headed to the back of the house where not as many people could see their exploits of the pyro nature.

As they explored the wonders of the ethanol and the mesmerizing nature of fire, Northrop came outside to spectate the happenings of the afternoon with fire.

“Yo Dalziel, why don’t you try putting some alcohol on your hand and lighting it on fire. It doesn’t hurt,” suggested Northrop.

“I’ve seen it done before, but you try it first!” As Dalziel was saying this, Northrop had already grabbed the bottle of ethanol and opened it.

“No thanks, you try, it won’t hurt!” said Northrop as he doused Dalziel’s hand with a dollop of ethanol. The battle of what to do inside Dalziel’s head was short lived but multifaceted. Light his hand and fire and see some awesome pyro activities as well as some awesome “street cred” or light his hand on fire and burn terribly. The lure of the awesomeness of this hand on fire won in the end and Dalziel slowly inched his hand closer to the burning candle. As his hand hovered one foot over the candle, Dalziel let the pool of alcohol loose and pointed his hand down toward the flame. As soon as the 1^st drop of alcohol reached its ignition temperature the flame raced towards Dalziel’s hand instantaneously and one foot above the candle, Dalziel’s hand was ripped back due to reflex and then shaken violently. The sound of fire whipping and burning in violent wind was echoing inside of Dalziel’s head as he tried to desperately shake out the alcohol fire on his hand. The whole time, Dalziel’s friends were sitting their observing the stupidity of Dalziel as he had tried to simulate the fantasy world and casted a fireball.

From merely observing Dalziel’s fireball remain on his hand, Dalziel’s friends could tell that Dalziel was no mage. Mages did not burn their hands when trying to cast fireball. So Dalziel finished screaming as the last of the alcohol was burned up and quickly sprinted inside to run his hand under cold water… Never again would Dalziel experiment with fire on his body, the pain of the burn flowed powerfully through the whole left hand of Dalziel. This unbearable pain was reminder enough for Dalziel that fire was the ultimate enemy of biological beings…

So my hand was burnt quite severely and one would expect that it would still be extremely painful as there was fire on my hand, but miraculously, I feel no pain whatsoever in my hand. I thank God that he has healed me and also thank my parents for being involved in the healing ministries and praying powerfully in the spirit to ease my pain. Any questions feel free to vent/IM/call. Amen.

Bored #1

Yes, so, I’m kind of bored right now. So I’ll write a random story. And here begins the randomness.

Dalziel was running out of time. The clock was ticking away and as its illustrious hand reached the not so illustrious 0 mark of the timer, something big was bound to happen. Tick Tock went the clock. Ticking and tocking, the clock spent its days hanging on the wall, peering over the room as an overseer peers over his slaves. Only the clock did not have a whip in hand, he was satisfied just pointing at numbers all the days of his life; or rather the length that his heart lasted him. Once in a while, after his heart gave out, Mr. Clock would sit like dead meat on a hook, but alas, Dalziel would notice the stench of Mr. Clock’s rotting corpse and perform open-heart surgery in a matter of seconds and resuscitate Mr. Clock from his dark days of death.

For this, Mr. Clock felt an extreme attachment to Dalziel. All this love that Dalziel showed him by looking at him lovingly and saving his life when needed was just so rainbow styling to Mr. Clock and for that he was sure that Dalziel was the man of his dreams. But of course before Mr. Clock could spend his days together with Dalziel, he had to undergo a sex change because he was sure that Dalziel was not gay. Mr. Clock spent many hours of his days pondering how to achieve this seemingly impossible task; he would have to undergo such a rare operation all without using his hands. His hands were bound to their circular path as Mr. Clock suffered from extreme obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). If Mr. Clock stopped moving his three hands around for even one second, he would lapse into a deep sickness from which he could never recover even with the magical life-saving hands of Dalziel.

Then one day, as Mr. Clock was sleeping, he felt the pull of something strange. He was being lifted off the hook that bound him to his mundane place on the wall. This force was very strange to Mr. Clock; a bit frightening and exciting at the same time. Then when this strange power finally ripped Mr. Clock off the wall he neared the source of this magnetic force and saw that it was a super massive black hole. Hands still pointing and moving, Mr. Clock thought this was the end. He would never see Dalziel again, and about that he was correct…

Dalziel’s sleeping time ran out. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rolled onto the floor where Ladridia lovingly licked his face to Dalziel’s complaints.

“Ahhh… stop Ladridia!” exclaimed Dalziel in disgust. He rewashed his recently washed face with water instead of dog saliva and as he brushed his teeth, thought of the strange dream he had. There had been lots of clocks and some strange personification of these clocks. He thought nothing more of his extremely abstract dream, but unbeknownst to Dalziel, his dream would have much importance in the days to come. By thinking about the dream while awake and kicking, Dalziel had unknowingly fulfilled the prophecy of the magical land of the clocks. Dalziel’s day continued without event and the thought of his dream never entered his head for days. He lived life as he normally would, extremely routinely. Wake up, go to school, sleep in class, wake up for snippets, copy frantically what was on the board, go back to sleep, eat lunch, go home, game with friends on vent, do homework, eat dinner, talk to people on AIM/surf internet, go to sleep, and repeat.

Then suddenly, while Dalziel was sleeping, he felt a strange presence in his room. He thought he was dreaming so thought nothing of this new aura in his room, he continued sleeping and enjoyed the softness and warmth of his pillows. He rolled over and shifted to find a better position, but as he did so, he kicked the hand of this new person in his room. As his foot connected with this strange hard substance, Dalziel realized that this was no dream…

He was suddenly wide awake and he grabbed the nearest object that could serve as a weapon. His natural-born survival instincts were kicking in as Dalziel clenched his metal flashlight tightly. He slowly stumbled out of his bed and headed toward where he had heard the intruder scamper... As he neared the pile of potentially dirty laundry, his heart started beating harder and harder, “ba-dump, ba-DUMP, BA-DUMP… THUMP!” Dalziel’s heart leapt straight out of his chest and lay still-beating in the middle of the pile of the now bloody laundry. Dalziel fell over lifeless onto the pile but in so doing, he landed perfectly so that his still-beating heart was shoved back into his chest and he awoke again with a huge gasp of air that filled his lungs so much that his lungs burst and he died yet again… Dalziel’s lifeless body lay rotting on the floor but then the clock climbed out of the corner and returned that favor that he had received so many times. He performed surgery on Dalziel and resuscitated him to life, after that simple action, Mr. Clock picked Dalziel back up and placed him back into his bed. Mr. Clock summoned forth his super massive black hole again and with one last teary-eyed look back at Dalziel, jumped back into the whole and left Dalziel to live his life.

Dalziel awoke the next morning and felt an odd pain in his chest but coughed a few times and thought nothing of it. The pain subsided and Dalziel walked into the bathroom past a small, mangled battery on the floor with a note attached. “You saved my life so many times so I thought I would return the favor…” Dalziel thought nothing of the note and tossed the battery along with the note into the trash can and proceeded to brush his teeth…