A/N: I had to get this up before I left. Sorry guys. Today's my last day. Hope you all can survive without me. I'll miss reading the reviews and smiling and laughing at what u all say… it always brightens my day.

So this one is the beginning of the Bacon Traumas that will occur all throughout '96 Moments of Kevin'. Trust me, I can think of a lot of ways to traumatize Kevin with bacon… so imagine a cute little pudgier version of Kevin with even longer hair and looking adorable (pretty much like the picture in 'Vendetta').

Disclaimer: own bacon. Especially the Canadian kind. Yum.

His mom had left home only a few minutes ago. The step was gone on another business trip. It was a good thing.

Kevin rubbed one onyx eye and looked around for any sign that pointed to some food his mother had made and left out for him. Not a slip of paper in her delicate handwriting. Nothing of the sorts.

With a sigh, he opened up the refrigerator with a few hard tugs, putting six years of weight into it. He was left home a lot. Mostly later in the day though. When it was early, his mom usually woke him up. When she was busy and late (which was often), she let him sleep a few extra hours.

He shuffled over to the closet and got out a small bench that his mom had bought. Sadly, he was short. It sucked. Ultimately.

Bending over, he dragged it at a shuffling pace to the open door at the fridge. Once it was positioned exactly where he wanted it, he stepped up and started pushing boxes of takeout and old pizza aside.

If there was one skill both his mother and the step lacked, it was any kind of cooking. There was no point to even owning a stove or oven. Whenever they made an attempt at cookies, there was almost always a fire. The smoke alarm would go off and Kevin would drop to the floor and scream bloody murder. He hated the smoke alarm. More than anything else.

Pulling the bacon from one of the top shelves, Kevin dragged it down and set it on the counter behind him. He got down slowly. Then the little boy pulled the bench out of the way so he could close the refrigerator again.

Silently, he stood on his tiptoes and turned on the radio so that the house wasn't completely silent. He didn't like how quiet it was when he was alone. Some weird oldies music cranked out of it. He didn't mind.

Kevin moved the bench underneath a cabinet and got back up onto it to get a plate for himself. He grabbed the scissors while he was up there. Naturally, he always forgot he needed them until he put the bench away. The boy smiled as he realized he didn't forget this time.

He pushed the bench back over to the counter where he had left the bacon and slit open the packaging with the green kid-size scissors. Sticky clear-ish fluid spilled out. A cuss word slipped his lips, glad his mom didn't hear it. He'd clean up later.

Kevin reached for the plate and pulled it over to him. He dropped a few slices of bacon on the plate. Good thing they had a microwave. The boy wasn't allowed to use the stove like his mother did for bacon.

He left the plate up on the counter as he got down and kicked the bench over to the microwave before returning to grab the plate. He held it above his head and carried it to the black machine. Kevin clicked the door open on it, the force of it releasing nearly knocking the plate out of his tiny pale hands. Barely, he kept a hold on it. He ducked under the door and swung it out further so it wouldn't get in his way. Then he shoved the plate into the middle of the microwave, centering it perfectly.

Ducking back under the door to shut it, Kevin pressed a few buttons and it started buzzing, the light turning on. The music still played behind him.

The boy sat on the bench, keeping a relatively close eye on the microwave.

It spontaneously combusted.

"Aw crap," he groaned, getting up and dragging the bench over to the counter where the wireless phone was. He dialed the three quick numbers and sighed, waiting only one ring before his good friend Alyse picked up.

"Again, Kevin?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, looking back at the fire, which had spread to the cabinets and drapes. "Call the fireguys. I need 'em." Kevin headed out the front door.

Alyse sighed from the other end. "What happened?"

He crossed the front lawn of lush green grass. "Just the usual. I tried to make my own breakfast and the microwave just went all POOF! on me and burst into flames." He brushed a curtain of ebony hair from his face. "Why does it have to be me? Why can't some other idiot kid blow up a microwave?"

"It's alright. Are your folks there?"

"Nah. Just me today." He plopped himself down on the curb, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of the fireguys.

"I'm sorry, Kev."

He shrugged, knowing very well that she couldn't see it. "Doesn't matter. So what's up with you?" he asked, needing some company. "Did your husband get to keep his job? You told me last time that there were some cuts and stuff."

"He did actually!" Alyse said, amazed a six-year-old like Kevin could remember that. "Thanks for asking."

An engine revved around the corner.

"Gotta go, Alyse!" he said into the phone, eyes widening as he saw big red truck. "The fireguys are here! Thanks for sendin' 'em!"

"You're welcome. Bye, Kevin."

"Bye-bye!"

The line went dead on both ends.

Kevin waved as the same fireguys came into his house with a hose. Just to put out a stupid fire that his idiotic microwave caused. "Hiya, Jim," Kevin said as one of them passed him, slowing down to check for injuries. As usual, there were none. "It's just me and it's in the kitchen."

"'Kay, buddy." The fireguy ruffled Kevin's hair before charging in.

Five minutes later, they all came out. Jim approached first while the others headed back to the truck. "It's out. Did you call your mom?"

"Does she reallllllyyy have to know about this one?" Kevin asked, putting on the cute face. He'd perfected it to the ultimate cuteness level. "I mean, she'll find out later and stuff, so I don't wanna tell her and you don't wanna tell her so we could probably let this one slide for just a littttllleeeee bit longer, right?"

"You are going to be a great con-artist," Jim said, picking him up. "Come on. Let's all go get tacos."

He was a natural born con-artist, not to mention a pyro.

A/N: lol. Didn't turn out like I had planned, but it'd b hilarious if u culd imagine wut I imagine when he sees it explode. Just his cute little eyes get all big and then he's like "Aw crap." And he's lookin all cute and stuff. Lol. It's hilarious!!!!!!! like it??

~Sky