She’s been put together; spattered with handfuls of shiny warning labels that no one ever took the time to read, only to reside in a lonely wooden box— sheltered, still, and safe. Living unlit and knowing nothing but patience, she’s unaware of all the wonderment that resides just beneath her own surface. When the box finally opens, she’s handled carefully by strong, gentle hands that recognize all of her treacherous potential. She doesn’t flinch, when those trusted fingers strike the match to light her fuse. She doesn’t fret when the heat catalyzes a chemical reaction— one far beyond her control. She only sings when her own jolt sends her rocketing a hundred feet into the night sky. And when she can’t stand the pressure any longer she swallows what pride she has left and explodes— a million strands of glittering fire decorating the dark, ominous unknown. Just for a moment, she hopes she’s the most beautiful thing those hands have ever touched. But as she fizzles out into a small cloud of smoke and something that once was, she accepts her purpose as the short-lived, soon forgotten, spectacularly unsuspected good time.