Stay the Burning
Crooked matches littered the floor around us. It had taken a while to light the candle. The wick was short, and our match box’s striking surface had worn thin.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she promised.
I watched her fingertips stroke the flame. It bucked at her touch, stuttered, and recovered. The glow cast her shadow onto the floor, throwing the slightest movement into a dazzling gesture.
“See? You just have to do it quickly. It won’t burn you.”
I swooped my hand over the candle, a good few inches above the flame. She laughed. It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
“Come on, do it properly,” she teased. “I’ll give you a kiss if you do.”
Without a second thought, I held my hand directly over the flame until my palm blistered.