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She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the matchbook on the dresser. She imagined herself carefully tearing the cardboard of the center match. She would drag it across the rough strip on the back of the book and watch the flame dance as it engulfed the sulfur head and consumed the stick. At the last second, before it singed her fingers, she would place the burning match on top of the book, which still sat on the dresser, and leave the room.