The match scraped against the box. For a moment, there was nothing, and then, a little flutter, a spark, and the tip of the match burst into flames. The sulfur filled my nose. Quick, I touched the match to the wick, heard it crackle, and watched. The fire crept towards my fingers. The flame hadn’t quite caught. The wick smoked a little.
Closer, I can feel the heat. The flame jumps; the candle’s burning. I pull my hand away, and with a flick of my wrist, I kill the match.
Under the gentle candlelight, my pen marks the white paper.
Tale Told 