I liked to think of them as my family. He was my father, she was my mother, and the little one that was just learning to talk was my little sister. Father kept me in the living room, right next to the kerosene lamp on the little table that had a broken leg. When Sister was born, and Mother and Father scraped up just enough money to buy a new house, Mother nearly threw me away because I was a danger to their baby; Father saved me, telling Mother how he, as a child, stole me from his father-- Pops, he called him-- as a joke, which made Pops really mad when he couldn't find anymore "Strike Anywhere Matches," so Pops went out in their brand new automobile to buy some more, which caused him to drive right into a tree in his obsessive passion. It wasn't the wreck that killed him, though; Father said Pops was thrown from the car, and his head landed right on top of a giant log covered in broken, spiky branches.

I wish I could say that I missed Pops, but he kept me in the box that I came in.

"Can't you put that somewhere else?" Mother asked once, pointing at me and Father's cigarettes with a dirty dishcloth. "She's getting big enough that she could reach up and snatch it right off the table," Mother looked lovingly at her small child; she never looked at her any other way. Mother glared at Father and crinkled her nose at the cigarettes and me. "You know how she likes to chew on things."

"Then teach her not to touch things she shouldn't touch," Father always slammed the door in Mother's face before his afternoon smoke.

I watched as Sister patted the ground and babbled and gurgled a laugh.

Father always came in just as supper was ready and sat with Mother at their tiny table as she tried to ask him about his day. He shoveled as much food as he could fit into his mouth and nodded his head at her questions, never looking at her as she was at him, just eating.

Sister tried to reach for me many times, but Mother always caught her. Moments like that made me remember that I wasn't actually part of their family.

"Baby, no," Mother caught her hand roughly and yanked me away.

"Stick!"

"Nope. You can't play with this stick. There's lots of sticks outside; why don't we get you one of those?"

"Stick," Sister reached for me again.

"Honey," Mother sat in front of Sister, "you can't play with this stick. You know what fire is? Fire is bad. And this stick makes fire."

"Fire!"

"No, baby. Fire is bad. We don't want fire."

"Fire!" Sister giggled loudly.

Mother put me back on the little table with a broken leg. It got pretty lonely there sometimes. Kerosene Lamp kept me company, but it was never much fun when the fire was blown out— it almost seemed like a completely different person. Besides, the only time the fire was ever lit was when Mother stayed up late to read, and she hasn't done that since Sister was born.

Midsummer, I thought I made a new friend one night. I heard a little voice, but it floated through the open windows before I could make out a word. The whisper came again; I listened as closely as I could, but it disappeared into the hot nights. During the day, Sister made so much noise that I would forget about the ghostly voice. Of a night, I wondered if insanity had finally taken over my mind.

Mother never noticed it; she only focused on finding ways to cool Sister down in the heat. Father only came home to eat, sleep, and get ready for the next day; sometimes I wondered if he even noticed the heat.

With the end of summer and the beginnings of fall, Mother decided to close the windows one night before going to bed. I was afraid at first— the voice that whispered every night left through those windows; what would it say if it were louder? When I could finally hear something other than what might have been my imagination, the little voice was raspy and old, almost like it was so thin it couldn't breathe. Every hour, its words became stronger.

"Trapped. Trapped," I heard it whisper.

"Trapped?" I couldn't think of anything else to say, but I figured the voice deserved some sort of response.

"Trapped!"

"You're... trapped?"

"Trapped!"

"Wh-where?"

"Where do you think, you stupid Match?" The unlit lamp scolded me. "Brazil? India?"

"Well, I don't know-"

"Trapped!" The shout was louder, but Kerosene didn't even flinch.

"I don't even know what it is-"

"It is a gas. Could you not even figure that out? You're almost as stupid as gases. I swear, sometimes I think you are one."

"I thought you liked gases?"

"Excuse you?"

"Well, you did say you liked to talk to gases sometimes. Mother was reading-"

"That never happened! I don't recall what you are talking about! And I do believe I've told you before that that lady is not your mother!"

"But she is-"

"I'm trapped!" Even Kerosene jumped at the sudden shriek.

"Gases," Kerosene rolled his eyes and turned away.

"H-hello?"

"They trapped me! They trapped me!"

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"She trapped me," I could hear it clench its teeth. "She closed the windows."

"Mother? Well it is cold-"

"There's no room! No room! No room in here to breathe!"

"She had to. She didn't mean to trap you-"

"I'll blow up! In her face! I'll gather around that stove! I'll blow her up!"

"Not Mother-"

"I will blow up this Mother! I will escape!"

The floating voice spoke of nothing else. That night, it grew stronger with every hour. I could almost see a shape start to take form, but that may have just been my mind playing night tricks on me.

I had never known a sunrise happier than that morning when Sister's cries cut through the angry threats of the gas. It didn’t silence it by any means, but at least I had something else to focus on.

Mother brought Sister in on her hip and sat her on the floor to play. I could barely hear the gas shout something about blowing her up. Mother was heading into the kitchen when Father came down.

"Oh! Honey," Mother took a few steps toward Father before rushing over to Sister to pull her hand away from me. "There has to be another place you can put that."

"I like it there," Father pulled out a cigarette and walked to the door for his morning smoke.

"She will grab it if we don't move it."

"Then do your job and watch her like a good mother," Father raised the cigarette to his lips and slammed the door on his way out.

I watched Mother's hands ball into fists before she stormed after him. I watched through the window as she ripped the cigarette pack out of his hands and started throwing them into the yard. When Father reached for her hands, Mother flung the whole box into the distance and snatched the match box away from Father. Father grabbed Mother's hands and held her against him.

A tiny hand smacked against the table and I rolled into a tiny hand.

"Stick!" Sister giggled.

Sister clutched me tightly and shook her hands. She looked disappointed for a second before a smile crept onto her face. She crawled over to the brick wall and began to hit me against the wall.

"Fire!"

My sides started to crack. I hoped I was going to break in half; at least then I couldn't ignite and hurt Sister. I barely recognized that the back door flung open until Sister halted her hitting to stared at Mother and Father. Mother ran in, Father right behind her.

Father caught Mother by the hand. Mother looked at him with raised brows and wide eyes before shooting glance to Sister. Fear turned to horror as Mother recognized that I was in Sister's hand.

"Baby, don't-"

"Mama!"

As Sister screeched a giggle, she flung her hands into the air. My red head scratched against the bricks as Sister flung me into the air. Sparks flew off of me as the gas crowded around me. I could feel the fire on me, but the sensation was forgotten as I saw the gas ignite and spread to Mother, then Father, then Sister. And with my family, I turned to ash.