60% of my right hand is covered in scar tissue.
It has healed pretty well over the years – to the point where you probably wouldn't notice unless I pointed it out – but back when I first suffered my injury, the doctor told me that I might lose some mobility in my fingers. If I'd managed to hurt myself while saving orphans from a burning ice cream shop or something equally heroic, I might be able to wave at people with pride. As it stands, my scars are the result of an undeniably stupid attempt at ridiculous science.
See, I'd heard this rumor that Splenda (the artificial sweetener) would burn with a purple flame when ignited. Being the brash twenty-something that I was, I decided that I was an adult, and therefore free to conduct ill-advised chemistry experiments in the confines of my tiny apartment. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that Splenda on its own did not seem to be particularly combustible... so I mixed it with a generous amount of rubbing alcohol, dumped the resulting mess onto a ceramic plate, and set the whole thing ablaze.
All of this, incidentally, took place atop a wooden desk in a carpeted room.
As could probably be expected, things got out of control pretty fast. I soon realized that I couldn't extinguish the flames via conventional means (like blowing on it really hard). Furthermore, I didn't have anything with which I could smother the conflagration... so my only option was to carefully pick up the plate and carry it to the kitchen sink. Despite my slow, measured steps, I still managed to stumble, splashing the back of my hand with liquid fire in the process. It hurt like hell, but I knew that if I flailed around at all, I'd likely set the entire apartment alight.
After what felt like an eternity (but was probably only about ten seconds), I finally made it to the sink. I dumped the plate, howled in pain, and asked my girlfriend to drive me to the hospital.
Worst of all, I didn't even notice if the flames were purple or not.
TL;DR: A burning curiosity and an idiotic experiment.
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