When I was six years old my friend Bobby and I burnt down a house in High Springs Florida. It was in a small town just outside of Gainesville. I had grown up in the middle of nowhere surrounded by horses and cows. My dad bought land in the woods. We had neighbors and they all lived in trailers.
One day Bobby and I were lighting matches in his aunt`s trailer just up the block near the cul-de-sac. She had a couch that had dangly strings at the bottom towards the floor. If you lit one dangly string up it would light up in flames and quickly disintegrate.
After lighting parts of Bobby`s aunt`s house on fire, we went outside to poop in the woods. I had no idea that we had left something lit inside the house. As we walked back to the house, fire was engulfing the entire trailer. The windows were blowing out and the smell of burnt insulation was covering the air. We walked to my house as if nothing had happened.
Just minutes later my mom put it together that we were the ones who had started the fire. The fire department was there within minutes putting the fire out. My mom, Bobby and I stood at the scene along with Bobby`s parents. A fire man came up to me and told me that if I continued breaking the law, then I would one day end up in handcuffs. I should have listened to him but I was only six.
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