Ouch! It Burns!- a descriptive essay
It was New Year’s Eve back home in the Philippines. I was only 6 years old, short, thin and clumsy. With my favorite striped pink shorts and white tank top with a Care Bears print on, I rushed outside our apartment to join other kids light some fireworks. People everywhere on our neighborhood were lighting their own fireworks and firecrackers. The sky that was usually dark was now filled with different colors of light – yellow, red, green, blue, white, and pink that started out small then became this huge star! Children around me had hand-held fireworks that emit small light while the adults had the longer and bigger version. It was noisy. Everyone was out on the street, blowing horns. The air was filled with white smoke as a result of lighting the fireworks. The smell of fireworks powder was everywhere. This happened almost every night from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Eve. But this night was different. I should’ve just listened to my parents when they told me to simply watch from a distance while others light their fireworks. I saw myself staring at craters of what seemed to be borders of burnt skin on my left forearm.
I came out of the house with energy and enthusiasm as if all ready to light up the old people’s fireworks – the kwitis. The small fireworks became too boring for me so I asked my dad if I could light up the bigger ones that he had bought the other night. My dad refused so I decided to sneak a couple and light them up myself outside. My neighbor Raul, who was twice as tall as I was, saw me and came near me when he saw what I had on my hands. I knew I would not be able to light them up because I did not know how to handle a lighter and I was too afraid that it might blow up on my face like I’ve seen on the news. I asked Raul if he could light one for me. Raul nodded and took one from my hand. I wanted to hold it while he lights it up but he didn’t let me. He didn’t say much. I watched...
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