THE LIGHTER

The cold bites deeper and sharper than it ever has before. It’s not the kind that numbs; it’s the kind that finds its way into your bones, burrowing deeper with every gust of wind. Huddled against the brick wall, knees tucked tight against the chest, it’s impossible to escape. The cold wraps itself around everything. Every breath comes in shallow, weak clouds, hanging in the air for only a second before the wind rips them away.

Across the street, the golden glow of windows spills onto the pavement. Inside, people laugh. Their faces are flushed, glowing from heat. They have drinks in hand, too far from this freezing night. The wind mutes the hum of life. Everything feels distant, unreachable.

My stiff and aching fingers dig into the pocket of the thin coat, fumbling for salvation. The small matchbox feels fragile in the hand. Flipping it open is a struggle; my fingers are so cold they barely respond. Three matches sit loosely inside, rattling as my hand shakes.

Three.

Breath catches, throat tightening. Each match is a chance, a tiny flicker of hope against the cold that presses in from every side.

But only three.

The first match comes out awkwardly, fingers numb and clumsy. The scratch of the game against the side of the box is harsh, but then, there it is. The flame sputters to life, small and delicate but real. Hands cup around it, pulling it close to the face, letting the warmth seep in. Skin tingles with the sudden heat, a brief rush of relief.

Then it’s gone. The match burns out too quickly, leaving only the dark and the cold. A sharp breath in, more panicked than before.

Two lefts.

The second match is struck faster, desperate this time. It flares up, burning slightly brighter, but the cold already feels stronger. The flame is pulled close again, heat flooding over numb fingers and seeping into the skin. It’s not enough, but it’s something. The mind drifts momentarily, remembering what warmth feels like and how it used to be. Then, the flame flickers out, taking the warmth with it.

One left.

My teeth clench, a knot tightening in the chest. The cold is worse now, more vicious. The wind whips through the alley, sinking deeper into the body, stiffening every muscle. There’s no choice but to use the last match. The fingers tremble as the last stick is pulled free.

The flame comes to life, fragile and bright. The hands curl around it, cradling the tiny fire and washing it over the skin. The heat feels distant, like a memory of something lost long ago. The eyes close, sinking into the warmth for just a moment.

A shadow moves at the end of the alley.

My eyes snap open, but the flame dies, and darkness and cold rush in. The figure steps closer, slow and deliberate, boots crunching on the frost-covered pavement. The match burns out, and the body stiffens in the icy blackness.

The figure stops a few feet away. Under the hood, no face is visible, just the outline of a man watching.

“You look cold.”

The wind is almost able to swallow the low, rough voice. My breath catches up again, my heart pounding, but no words come. Lips are frozen, just like everything else.

The man’s hand disappears into his coat and reappears with something small and metallic. He holds it out - a lighter, old and worn, the surface scratched and dull. He tosses it forward, and instinct takes over, stiff fingers catching it before it falls.

“Use it,” he says, his voice disappearing as he fades into the shadows. “It will make you warm.”

The lighter feels heavier than it should, cold metal pressing against frozen skin. It’s a strange weight, but there’s no time to think. The cold claws at the body, biting deeper every second, and the matches are gone.

There’s no choice.

The lighter flicks open, and the flame bursts to life. Heat surges instantly, flooding over frozen fingers, crawling up through stiff arms, and thawing the face. It’s stronger than anything the matches gave, soaking into the bones. Shoulders relax, muscles unclench, and the breath is long and slow, visible in the night air. The flame burns steady, golden, and soothing.

But then, a sound. A sharp thud.

My eyes snap open, and I lock onto a figure across the street. A woman walking with friends suddenly freezes in mid-step. Her face twists in horror, eyes wide as her body convulses. She drops to the ground, her friends screaming as her body shakes uncontrollably, then falls still.

The lighter snaps shut.

The warmth vanishes. The cold rushes back, harsher than before, wrapping tight around everything. Breath comes faster, heart hammering in the chest. The woman’s body lies crumpled on the pavement. She’s not moving.

What… what just happened?

The lighter is still in hand; its weight is heavier now. Eyes can’t leave the woman’s body, but the mind races, barely able to comprehend. The cold digs in again, freezing every muscle, stealing breath, and squeezing tighter.

The hands twitch, craving warmth. The body can’t take much more of this.

The lighter flicks open again.

Heat flares up instantly, stronger than before, filling every frozen part of the body. The warmth is intoxicating, impossible to resist. The cold begins to melt away. Shoulders slump, and the breath comes out in slow, soft clouds.

Then, the scream.

A man walking his dog clutches his chest, his face twisting in agony. His knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground, twitching, his body convulsing as he gasps for air. His dog barks and pulls at the leash, but the man doesn’t move. His body jerks one last time before going still.

The lighter slips from numb fingers, clattering to the ground. The flame dies, and the cold rushes back, as sharp and biting as ever. Hands shake uncontrollably, heart pounding against ribs, eyes locked onto the man’s lifeless form.

This can’t be happening. It’s impossible.

The wind howls, slicing through the coat, tearing away the last bits of warmth. Fingers reach for the lighter again, despite everything. It’s the only source of heat. The body craves it. Needs it.

The lighter flicks open.

Heat surges once more, stronger than ever, washing away the numbness. Every part of the body relaxes, sinking into the warmth. Somewhere nearby, another scream pierces the night.

Eyes close, the flame still flickering in hand. But the warmth is too good to let go of now. The cold feels far away, distant, like something from another life. The crackling of the fire drowns out the screams, which fade into nothing.

Nothing else matters now.

The flame burns on.