I was covered in clothes, completely covered in clothes.

But I kept freezing.

I lit a match to warm myself.

It was a relief, a total relief to feel that small wave of heat.

"It will be better if I put it closer," I said, watching the flame cling to the fabric.

From the cuff of my thick pants, the heat rose.

I felt a great relief.

The cold that lay throughout my body meant nothing anymore.

The light of the flame and the need satisfied by its temperature were impossible to ignore.

The flame grew larger but very slowly; it wasn’t the fast fire I knew.

However, the thick pants were completely engulfed in flames.

·

A little burning without sense...

It will pass soon.

The flame won't last long.

It will go out.

Just one burn and it will cease.

·

One more thread, one more thread.

It could still be temporary.

That’s what I thought.

"It has happened to me before."

I’ve scratched myself on a thorn and bled, but then the blood stops flowing.

It becomes a scar.

I will never bleed out.

Why would the fire stay?

Nothing is eternal; why would fire be?

Surely the flame will go out; I’ll give it a moment more.

·

The flame wouldn’t hurt me.

The flame has no life, and I do.

I won’t let it keep burning me.

I don’t feel my leg where I lit the flame.

I believe it will go out to avoid hurting me more.

It doesn’t want to harm me; that’s not what it told me.

Surely it doesn’t realize it's burning me.

The flame has no heart or mind; it’s just a chemical reaction.

How could it have malice?

·

I could see...