There once was a little girl with match sticks.
She loved to light them up.
She was fascinated with the light that came out of the fire.
And the warmth that emanated from it.

She first started to watch the fire burn the match stick.
And at one time, she burned her finger.
It stung and she cried.
Then her mother put on toothpaste and the pain went away.

Her mother told her to be careful with fire.
Because fire was never to be toyed with.
It can radiate such beauty, but when you get too close, it can burn you.
The little girl nodded and understood.

But you see, the girl was stubborn.
She still wanted to play with fire.
So she found pieces in the house to light it with.
Anything that burned was beautiful.

One evening on a cold night, while playing, her dress caught fire.
Her mother ran to her aid and doused the flames with water.
This time it didn’t sting and instead, it hurt more.
Her entire right arm was burnt and she couldn’t stop crying.

As time passed, she avoided fire like the plague.
It didn’t hurt as much anymore.
The wounds healed and left scars.
They looked repulsive so she always had to cover them up.

But her enchantment with fire never went away.
And so little by little, she started playing with matches again.
She thought it harmless since they were just little flames.
But as times passed, those flames grew again.

Her mother begged her to stop.
She kept all the matches away from the little girl.
But the little girl was clever.
She hid match boxes in many secret places.

She knew that playing with fire is dangerous.
But she silenced the warnings in her head.
She was older now she thought.
She knew better.

She thought she could control the fire.
Like a drug addict, she lit one match after the other.
Entranced by the flame she failed to notice that there was a can of kerosene on the top shelf.
And it fell on her.

She screamed and screamed.
She rolled on the ground trying to put the flames out.
But it was of no use because the fire was too strong.
She burned until nothing was left but ashes.