“The beginning,” Steve began slowly, “was ten years ago when I had that operation for my abscessed ear. You must remember it.” He paused while Pitch nodded in agreement. “Then you must remember too,” Steve went on, “how badly I wanted a pony at that time. I couldn’t understand why Dad couldn’t buy me one, if he could get me a scooter and a tricycle. I had to have a pony, so I tried getting one by myself. I sold subscriptions to a magazine that offered a pony as a prize to the kid getting the most new subscribers.” Steve paused again, smiling as he added, “Yes, you were one of my best customers, Pitch. But I still didn’t win the pony. So I continued drawing pictures of ponies and horses, making myself more miserable and Dad and Mother miserable as well, because they couldn’t afford to buy me a pony, much less stand the upkeep of one.”

Steve’s eyes met Pitch’s. “I’m telling you all this, Pitch, because it has an important bearing on what happened during the operation.” Steve gazed back at the fire again. “I remember that the doctor came to the house, and he found me in bed, shrieking for a pony. I saw him nod to Dad, and then Dad was telling me I could have a pony if I would only lie still. So I relaxed and thought how wonderful it was going to be to have my very own pony. It wasn’t long before the doctor’s nurse put something over my nose and mouth. It was the anaesthetic, but I didn’t know that. I breathed in the sweet, sickly odor, and I was still thinking of my pony when the fiery pinwheels started. I followed them round and round as they sped faster and faster. Soon they were going so fast that they no longer made a circle, but were one ball of fire. It came at me hard, bursting in my face.