Fire

Scrape. Scrape, Scrape.

Roughly scraping a match, tring to get a spark, trying to light a candle to drive away the dark.

Scraping.

Getting a bit desperate, starting to panic because the darkness is closing in, we're running out of time, and we can't even see the match that we're trying to light anymore.

We can only feel it, cold in our hands.

Scrape. Scrape again.

Maybe we're not pushing hard enough. We're not scraping fast enough.

We've always been afraid of a big flame, that's probably the case.

But the darkness is closing in, and we'd rather be burned than be in the dark.

So we scrape a bit more, and it still doesn't work.

Frustrated, we hit the box with the match.

There's a spark, a glow, a light, a flame.

The match feels warm on our fingers.

And we're not in the dark anymore. We have our little fire.

And we're using it to look at someone else's face this time.