by Sarah Edwards
I was the innocent age of seven, and my life was still a simple one, but I was headed towards a traumatizing night that would leave its mark on me forever. It started with dinner. I had a T.V. stand right in front of the couch, waiting for food to be set upon it. I was fixated on the screen displaying colorful shows before my sisters and me when the soup came – it was ramen. I was fond of it then, and somehow I still am today. My mother held it out to me, warning me that it was hot, but I was a foolish child. She set it down on the plastic tray and then everything became a blur. I knocked it over, but not onto the ground. Its fuming liquid slithered down my thigh, and I cried out in pain. I was on fire! But was I? It was liquid…What could I do? Stop, drop and roll, I’d been taught, so I followed the procedure. Dropping to the floor, I writhed about, trying to extinguish the nonexistent flames I felt. The smell of packaged chicken flavoring from the ramen rose from my burnt flesh.
My mother was yelling at my eldest sister to call 911. “What’s the number to 911,” my frightened sister cried, fumbling with the phone. Tears streamed from my eyes. I was dying, I thought. My mother rushed me to the tub and tried to pour water over my blistering skin. Nine-one-one was somehow called in the midst of the chaos, and eventually, an ambulance arrived.
The next thing I can recall was being in a white room with a thin sheet spread over my body. I saw a nurse through my puffy eyes. She asked permission to see the damage, and I shook my head no. I was hideous. How could I let her see the gruesome ruin I had previously called my thigh? She laughed lightly in spite of my answer and checked it anyways. She smothered a thick gel over my burn, bandaged the wound, and then said I was fine. How could I be fine? I was in pain! My leg had burned away! I protested but the nurse said there was nothing more that could be done, and I was forced to leave. Although my leg is still usable to this day, the scar is a grave reminder to be wary of ramen.
From the scalding and dry lands of Southern California, Sarah moved to Alaska looking for adventure! In her free time Sarah enjoys painting, and other various forms of art. The ability to get lost in a seemingly impossible journey, or become entranced by sly fae, make fiction her favorite genre to read. Sarah is a young soul, still learning and grasping what it truly means to be human. Social interaction isn’t her strongest point, but she more than welcomes friendly folk to strike up a conversation.