Catch A Light

She lit the match with a shaking hand, needing a few strikes on the box before it caught.

Holding it out in front of her, the sole illumination in the room, the red-tinged light danced across the tears on her face.

She had only to drop it, and it would all end. The trail of fuel would catch, the fire would reach the cans, boom.

All the memories. All the pain. All the hatred. Gone.

She watched as the flame consumed the match, until it began to burn her fingers.

She dropped the match.

Then caught it with her foot.