Pyromaniac

Prologue

            It sat there, taunting her.

            Bright green cursive wished her a happy birthday and the bundles of frosting waves danced around the cake. The flawless fondant flowers threatened to wilt if she didn’t make her birthday wish soon. Yet, she still had God-knows-how many hours to wait for her parents to arrive.

            It’s not like she could light the candles herself.

            Could she?

            The disheartening truth that had delayed her birthday celebration now flipped backwards, inspiring her to hop off of her chair and scamper into the kitchen, flipping through all the cabinets and drawers before she found the package of candles sitting on the counter.

            She counted one, two, three, four, five, six, seven candles. Two yellows, two blues, and three pinks, because pink was her favorite color. Conveniently, she also found the box of matches next to the candle package. Who knew life was so easy?

            She had watched her mother and father light the candles so many times, for their birthdays, for little Drew’s birthdays. With just one flick of the wrist, a flame appeared. It couldn’t be too hard. If her parents came home to see that she lit the candles all by herself, how proud would they be?

            They would praise her and stroke her head. How talented! Only six—no, seven years old, and she knew how to light her own birthday candles. A smile lifted the corners of her lips just thinking about it.

            She slid the match box out with her index finger, selecting one of the wooden rods. Her curious jades gazed at the red end longingly, and gave it a try, scraping it against the side of the box.

            Nothing happened.

            Giving a little huff, she tried again, this time, scraping with a little more force.

            Nothing again.

            Well, third time’s the charm, she thought, or was it the fourth time? It didn’t matter. She struck the match for the third time, and this time, a clear raindrop-shaped flame flickered about at the top of the match, radiating heat.

            She grinned and held out the match above and away from her, her anxious eyes on the birthday cake, cautious.           

            However, what she didn’t see was the curtain so close to her hand, to her right. It only took a single atom of the match flame grazing the fibers to make the curtain burst into flames. When she looked up in means of finding the origin of a strange noise, her green eyes reflected the wall of fire and she watched as her little match encapsulated the entire room in flames.