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She took large, sweeping steps across the room towards me, her dark eyes burning holes in mine. Removing a match from the back pocket of her pants, she drew it sharply across her teeth, causing a small flame to erupt from the tip.

“I was the child with the penchant for setting fires,” she smiled as she drew nearer.

My entire body was drenched in gasoline. It dripped from my hair into my eyes, it soaked into my clothes, and it created tiny puddles on the floor next to me. Not only was I enveloped in gasoline, I was enveloped in so much fear it hurt to move.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My eyes stayed trained on the sweetly threatening look on her face, and I waited with clenched fists for her to flick the match in my direction.

Even before the match left her fingers, I was screaming.

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