The girl stared at her hands, at the box of matches she fiddled with. She looked at all the matches, and the sides and the top of the box. Her hands shaking, she took out another match.
You shouldn't be doing this. Ah. There it was. The voice that would never leave her alone. It always showed up when she needed it least. It told her things, and convinced her things. But it was wrong.
She played with the match, holding it up to the light emerged from the flickering candle on her lap. She tilted her head, debating. And she stuck the match across the side of the box.
It took a few try's to get it to light, but it lit up in her hand. She stared at it, entranced by the light. Soon enough the match burnt out.
It wasn't long enough. And there was the other voice the one that told her to take the matches and watch them burn. It was right.
She took out another match, and stuck it across the side of the box. This one lit on the first try.
She watched as it burned nearer and nearer to her fingertips until at last she dropped it.
Right on to her gasoline soaked sheets.
