Match

On the breast of the wall he drew a line and said: Enough! Up to here is enough, flame! The lit match he threw onto the firewood soaked in oil. Fire, being fire, gave a roar and quickly rose from its place and flung out its claws sharp and greedy at everything there was. Fire, being fire, ran through the curtains swallowed the fabric swallowed the base swallowed the lines swallowed the man... On the cold flagstones a heap of ash drifts at ease...