I stared intently at the piece of paper. A minute ago, I had lit the candles which had been lying on my dresser, and they rolled off and dripped hot wax on my carpet. I hadn't bothered cleaning it up.
Why could I only set things on fire when I didn't mean to?
Five more minutes of intense staring and I couldn't take it any more.
"For god's sake!" I yelled, shaking the paper. The whole thing set alight in my hands. The scream which escaped from my mouth was of shock rather then pain. Fire had never really burnt me, it just created an increasingly warm feeling on the affected area.
Quickly, I ran to my window and threw it outside.
"Sam, what are you doing?" Mum called from her bedroom. By this point, she was used to strange noises coming from my room. Every time she came in, there'd be another burn patch on my wallpaper.
"I set a thing on fire again!"
"Oh for crying out loud, Sam. Can't you just give it a rest for one day?"
I sighed and crossed the hallway to speak to her and she grabbed my arm. "Look, your hand is coming up in blisters!"
She was right. They were appearing up my forearm, too, and starting to sting. It had never happened before. I had held my hand in an open flame and felt nothing but warmth. Why did it have to blister up now?
"I'll go to a walk-in centre or something, it'll be fine."
"You will not. I'll drive you to A and E." Within minutes, we were in the car and on our way. We lived in a pretty remote place and I knew that the journey would take at least an hour.
I didn't know why my mum was so against walk-in centres. Our village of ten houses had one. It would have made our lives so much easier if she'd let me go to it. But she wouldn't.
When we went to a doctor about the fact that I could set things on fire by staring at them, he didn't know what to do. He in fact called on what seemed to be all the other doctors in the surgery, and they didn't know what to do either. Eventually, I was told to just be careful and try not to burn myself.
I sighed and just concentrated on the stinging for the rest of the journey.