Yet another paper I had to write for my Academic Writing Class.

Memories can hold all kinds of secrets. Sometimes they can be scarring, and other times they can be warming to remember. Some can start with a sweet beginning and later end in painful suffering.
When I was 13 my family and I went on a trip to Florida. The drive was close to 14 hours, and so we made frequent stops along the way. A day later, after we arrived at my Grandparent's house, everyone was exhausted. Sitting for hours upon end can be very tiring. We were welcomed warmly into the house. After giving my Grandma a hug, I shot off for the bonus room where I could sleep. I was rudely awakened, because in the rush for bed I had forgotten to eat dinner. I walked out drowsy and went to the dinner table. With a quick glance, I peered at the clock on the stove; it was 10pm. I ate and went back to bed ready for the next day.
I awoke to the sweet smell of pop tarts, one of my favorite strudels. My Grandma likes to spoil us by buying sweets. Knowing I would eat these after I was dressed, I was certain my day would be beyond perfect. I put on some jeans and made my way to the kitchen. “Ohhhh yeah!” I said, because the smell was phenomenal! My sister was just finishing up eating her's. I grabbed a few pop tarts and went into the wash room. It was kind of dark so I turned a light on. This revealed a washing machine, a dryer, and an old worn out toaster oven. I stepped over to the suspicious toaster oven and inspected it. It was very old, so old in fact that the numbers and writing were smeared and difficult to read. I yelled out asking if this is what she had used. She replied with a “yes”, and then left to go take a shower. So I plopped in my delicious strudels and waited until the bell rang. Knowing this could take time, I walked around in the wash room casually. I also inspected some of the other things in the room. The instant the bell rang, I darted over and yanked one out. I was so excited, I hadn't eaten one of these in a year or two. Right as I reached my hand out to grab the other pastry, I made a fatal mistake. I lifted my hand too early and the heating rods, still intensely hot, scraped against my skin. I could feel the burning. It felt as if this spot on my arm was being covered in acid. I screamed out in pain and quickly jumped over to the sink in the nearby room. My arm was still throbbing with the burning sensation so I drenched it in cold water. This barely made a difference in the pain. My mom who who came when I screamed, tried her best to bandage my arm. She then told me to not put pressure on it so it might heal faster. I did and began eating the food that had caused my injury.
A few weeks after this incident, we were back in our house. The trip had been great except for the small problem I had run into. I learned my lesson with toaster ovens, and this was one memory I would not forget. After all, the scar from it all still lays on my arm.