Rain rolls off the ball of my nose and freezes on the matchbox resting in my hand.
The now dampened box has cardboard walls that form a poor version of a rectangle. Another match!
Another strike gone wrong.
I toss the useless toothpick with little effort into the pile growing, now up to my ankles.
The pressure amounts as the Fourth of July crowd stares at my poor attempts, my fingers grip the fourteenth attempt, and it lights! Might as well go for it now! Fire is mine, and just like that the rope is burning, that’s right. I did That. I look down in my pride, and the rain vanishes, I turn with a smirk to see the firework was never placed upright. It takes off in a horizontal fashion, and sinks right down into the water. The flame extinguishes before the firework bursts. But when the rain returns and passes my nose, it runs around my smile, because at least I lit the match.
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