Drawing with Matches

Avery Wilson likes to light matches. Not light matches as in light-matches-and-set-things-on-fire-like-Matthew-Trinson-down-the-street, but lighting matches. Just lighting them. And then blowing them out. Avery loves the sounds of the head of the match scraping against the side of the box, the sound of fire being brought to life.

But when the unthinkable happens, Avery is forced to move in with her former step-mother, and leave everything she has ever known behind.

Feeling hopeless and blue, Avery takes to stalking the streets of the downtown, exploring every nook and cranny, finding things that no one has before. The dingiest bookstores and dustiest shops are prey to Avery’s wandering, including that of a former artist. His small building is not much bigger than Avery’s room, but it contains the finest artists of the city, including a quiet prodigy who goes by the initials T.H.

Avery, when alone, calls him The Poet and thinks that they’ll only ever meet in that dusty room. She takes solace in his work, and looks forward to seeing what his genius produces.

But the Poet has some problems of his own, as does every artist, and begins to seek out Avery, asking for her advice.

Not knowing that he’s not the only one with vices as well as virtues.