Matches
By: Aren K. Hatch
Tags: Short Story, Fiction, Microfiction, Flash Fiction, Creative Writing

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

The garden had burned entirely to ash. York knelt in the powdery graveyard edged by a blackened fence, ash sticking into the denim of her jeans. She pressed her hand into the coarse layer like she and her sister Lilith had done years ago on the sidewalk when it was still unset cement. This handprint would last a day, if that. York’s body curled in on itself as she fought away the sobs bubbling in her lungs.

“Why’d you do it?” she said in a strained voice. “It was so beautiful.” Her voice broke and her whole body shuddered.

Lilith found her hours afterwards, as York was lying down, trying to bury herself in the ashes. The two of them sat inside the solarium, tea in brand new cups on the circular table before them. A gift, Lilith said, though York had no idea what for. She simply stared mindlessly into the amber depths of her cup while Lilith stirred and stirred her unsweetened tea.

Until York said, “Stop.” And Lilith set the spoon onto the saucer.

Lilith frowned. “What are we going to do about it?”

“We?” York said quietly.

“Yes, we,” Lilith said firmly, pressing her closed fist against the table. “You may be determined to try and do everything yourself, but I care about you too much to let you waste away in your own apathy.”

York took the handle of her teacup and squeezed. “I’m not apathetic.”

“So, the fire was an accident?”

The grandfather clock in the hall signaled the arrival of 2 PM, and York said nothing until the bells stopped, and they once again plunged into silence. She channeled her despair into the muscles of her hand, gripping the cup painfully tight against the cuts on her fingers.

The handle broke off.

Lilith cursed under her breath.

“You always know how to find quality stuff,” York said, grateful to be talking about anything other than the fire. Anything other than the grey demon that lived in her chest and controlled her breaths, her will.

With a resigned sigh, Lilith said, “I’ll just glue it like I do with everything else. Besides, you’re not supposed to hold it like that.” She held up one index finger and sauntered out of the room.

York looked out the window, to the scar in the backyard. She had tended that garden for a decade, only for it to end like this becauseㅡ

Lilith returned, glue in hand. “May I?”

York scooted her chair to the side and pointedly looked away, gaze now falling onto the matchbox sitting on the windowsill, with a clear view of its work. The blood on it had dried to a dark brown now, and Lilith would never know what it was unless she thought too much about it. So York looked at an unremarkable succulent farther down, before Lilith could track her gaze and start asking questions.

“There we go,” Lilith said, and entered York’s vision again as she sat back in her chair. Teacup clutched in both hands, thumb scratching at the rim of the cup, a question glowed in her eyes, but York knew she wouldn’t ask it. Not without York prompting. And she wasn’t going to do that.

York pushed her chair back with a loud screech and got to her feet. “It’s two. The dogs need to be fed again.”

Lilith’s thumb stopped its motions.

“Do you hear them?” York asked. “They’re very quiet.”

Lilith leaned forward carefully and set the teacup back onto the saucer with a clatter, ensnaring York’s rapt attention. Did the dogs have to do with Lilith’s unspoken question? The matchbox glowed in the corner of York’s vision, taunting her, but she kept her gaze steady and locked on her evasive sister.

“I don’t think it’s safe for them here,” Lilith said quietly. “So, when I first got here and saw you in the garden… I called Dad and had him come pick them up, take them to his place for the unforeseeable future.”

“They’re not yours to take.”

Lilith gestured towards the garden, arm trembling. “Look at that out there. What if you hurt them?”

“I would never hurt them.”

“Like you never hurt Terra?” Lilith looked away, face paling.

York slowly rounded the table, the demon waking at the mention of its work. Its tiny claws tore at the inside of York’s lungs, and she fought to keep her breath from taking over her words:

“Terra’s death was an accident.”

“Just like the garden?” Lilith asked, so quietly that York could barely hear her.

“Look at me, Lil,” York said, crouching down.

Lilith’s eyes darted over to make contact. The uncertainty and fear there, York hadn’t seen it since the night of Terra’s accident. She hated seeing it there now. She hated it so much. Her hand jerked up to take Lilith’s, her sister’s skin still warm from the tea. Lilith swallowed but didn’t try to pull away.

“We’ll talk about it later. Come see the garden with me, Lil,” York whispered. “Let’s see what we can do about it. Okay?”

Lilith nodded the tiniest bit and got to her feet as York stood. York released her hand and nodded for her to go first. The moment Lilith’s back was turned, York silently took the bloody matchbox from the windowsill and slipped it into her pocket. Her fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into her sensitive palms, once again drawing blood.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered so Lilith couldn’t hear.

With a shaky breath, York stepped outside and walked up behind Lilith, who’d stopped at the charred fence surrounding the garden. Quietly, York took out one of the matches, her blood staining the wood. “They weren’t yours to take, Lil,” she said, as she lit the match.