Wrapping Papers

The house was ablaze. Burning with children’s laughter and whispering moms. On the wall, splashes of paint formed by tiny fingers and what can only be assumed is the birthday cake. Boxes of presents dressed themselves in colorful outfits from aunts and uncles laid undisturbed on the table, hiding the beast within. Outside in the garden, tiny feet bounced, ran, jumped and danced under the blazing sun followed by yells of worried middle aged women. The sparkling “Happy 12th Birthday” crafted by clumsy hands hung loosely on the front door. Inside, the girl smiled brightly as presents flow through the stream of hands. Her fingers danced lightly on the ribbon, slowly unwrapping her treasure, she closed her eyes. Burning to open the gift. Everything stilled, awaiting her reaction, the creaky wooden floor dared to make a sound and even the birthday candle glowed quietly. A ripping noise, sharp like a clean cut knife, a single breath escaped. A box of matches. The girl grinned widely, holding the matches dearly in her arms. She opens her eyes, heat creeping closer to her cheeks as sparks of orange and red sways around her. The smell of timber and gasoline lingers on the atmosphere. Smoke stretches itself like vines, surrounding the house and comes tumbling down along with furniture. The house erupts. Engulfed by the red wild beast. Until there is nothing left to burn. The box of matches once again tucks itself neatly inside the wrapping papers.