The Flame

They all stood in rows, one after the other. They all looked the same with those welcome mats and manicured lawns and plain mailboxes and white fences. They all begged for individuality, something to set them apart from each other, and boy, was she going to give it to them.

She lit the match and watched the flame dance. A smile crept along her face as the fire reached for the surface. Wisps of smoke kissed the sky and the distinct smell of something burning filled the air.

"Burn," she whispered, staring in awe at the flame swaying before her.

"Get a better candle, won't you?" the man said, staring with disdain at the source of the dreadful smell. "Who even lights candles outside anyway?"

"Just grab the paint and let's get to work," she said. "These fences aren't going to paint themselves."