I was only 5 when I burned my house to the ground. The babysitter was too fucking lazy to get off her ass and go into the bedroom to help me find a toy in the toybox in the closet. (It’s interesting that we could afford a babysitter but not the electric bill. I guess choices had to be made.) In the mean time, there I was digging through the toy box, holding the candle over my head, in and amongst all the clothes hanging in the closet. Can you guess what happened next?
Now, to be honest, I was only five at the time and when I saw the shirt on fire, I knew enough to swat it out. I thought I had extinguished it and everything was going to be okay. So I don’t really know if it was me who started the fire of my 4 year old little brother.
Yea, the dipshit babysitter let him use the candle tool. I just know that when I went back to get the next toy, he closet was ablaze. Honestly I think any moron with a pot of water could have put the fire out. It was contained in the closet at that point. But I recall being rushed out of the house and standing on the street while all my toys burned.
In the world today, we would have been able to sue the babysitter for being stupid. In the world of the Christians, I could have been taken to the edge of town and stoned to death. If my father was Islamic, I would have just had my hands chopped off. None of this has anything to do with Plato or Aristotle. At least I am not seeing the connection yet. Oh Wait! There were shadows on the bedroom walls. Hmm. Plato may have a point.