I struck a match and lit two candle sticks in my room. I love fire and the scent it brings with it too.
Disaster struck! How do I always get in such messes?
A candle (Perhaps too tall, too skinny? Maybe the holder wasn't stable enough? These thoughts ran through my head in frightened panic.) had mysteriously fallen over.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a cat bound off my bed and out of my room. Well, that settled that. My dementedly curious cat was the culprit.
That didn't solve my problem though. There was now a small fire on my carpet which, of course, I stared at dumbly for a few seconds.
Then, it hit me; there's a fire on my floor! I ran to the bathroom and filled a cup with water. Luckily, the colossal bonfire of my imagination was in actuality rather small. It was thoroughly doused by a single cup of water. Relief struck me with the force of a baseball bat.
However, a black spot on the floor was never good, and there was no possibility of telling my mother. She would ever so quickly retrieve my candle lighting privileges. I couldn't leave it out in the open though. Mom, with her hawk eyes, was sure to spy it. There was only one thing to do: cover it up.
I had a rather large collection of stuffed animals. Fortunately, the burn was near the wall. I could cover the spot with animals, and mom would never notice! No sooner than that was thought, the deed was done. I was uneasy about it for a week, sure, but when mom didn't find anything wrong, I promptly forgot about it.
Guilt always gets me for a short while, but in my life, it's ever too frequent to bother with.

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