Beta'd by my lovely Kezia, thank you. Although I have a bad feeling I just uploaded the original. Oops...

Matchstick

It was a strange epiphany, realising that the man she loved had chosen fire over her. Of course, she had always known that he found the flames beautiful. How often she had kissed his burned fingertips, or blown out the match before the glow could reach his fingertips? Only she'd thought he'd found her beautiful, too. Who was she to compare herself to a flame? She, who knew so much of the draw of the flickering light, the ever-changing colours.

Without her conscious bidding, she found a box of matches in her hands. It was an old, French box, faded colours and rounded corners. Her memories of receiving it were so very, very clear.

The sound of the match striking plunges her into a whirlwind of memories. It always had been a sound associated with him. He had been so noble, so chivalrous. She had never had to light her own candle; he would always have one there for her. Perhaps, she thinks now, so he didn't have to share the flames.

All these thoughts are whisked away and replaced with new ones as the tip of the match bursts into light. The thoughts fight with each other, tumbling around, clawing at her as they all clamour to be the one concentrated on. The truth is, she can't just keep one thought for this moment of the flame. It's everywhere. It's there in her first memory: the end of the Snicket mansion. It's there when she remembers her parent's funeral, when she thinks of her school days, when she wonders for the hundredth time the location of her brothers. Maybe it's all just in her imagination.

The flame is quieter now, just a hint of blue around the wood. Blue was always supposed to be such a sad colour, and yet she feels nothing as she stares at it. She tilts the match so more catches alight. The flame grows gradually, eating away at its fuel, and a hint of smoke twines itself upwards. It reminds her of two figures, and her mind turns them into the past; the two of them dancing, serene, at peace. The world was quiet there.

But now the flame has grown once again, and it devours the wood hungrily, leaping up, demanding attention. This is the angry stage, the one that cannot see reason. The part of everything that blames him. How could he have left her, how could he have chosen the other side?

The match-tip falls, spiralling gently to the floor. How could he have broken her heart? How could he have broken her heart in such a way that left her helpless, frozen and despairing, unable to do anything but sink slowly to the ground?

At the other end, the flame is still burning, smaller now, but with a ferocity it didn't have before. Now, the past is quiet, and she can watch the match burn away without unsavoury thought. It has been a long time, but now, once more, her world is quiet here. Even as the flames lick her fingers, scorching her skin. Even as the rest of the match crumbles into nought but dust and ash. Even as the moment comes back to her, and she sees him in the light of the match, whispering to her, the tiny light flickering in his eyes. All flames are eventually extinguished, he had said.

'But not us,' she whispers. 'You said not us.'

With the tiniest of sobs, she realises that she can no longer believe him.

And the match is extinguished by her tears.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. And Tabs - this is one of the 1.5 written whilst you were away. Who knows when the 0.5 will get finished, so make the most of this one. :D

~ Em