I stood, disbelieving, staring at the hatred in her eyes. Her hair was wild, blown by the wind, it’s dark strands like slashes across her face. Beautiful hands clenched in rage.

“Torch it.” She said.

I opened my mouth to speak, to argue with her decision, but nothing came out. I struck the match on the box’s strike pad and watched the flame flare. I glanced once at her. She was drunk with her rage. I tossed the match and watched it’s flame tumble through the air toward the target.

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