She picks up the box. 16 years of marriage and these are the only belongings that are hers alone.
She walks down the hall as the walls burst into flame.
Fire shoots down the hall as if leading her the way. Its tendrils play with her hair but do not touch her.
Neighbors burst out of their homes in bathrobes. They look from the blaze to the housewife.
Her red sequined gown shimmers in the night as if she too were a flame.
“What happened?” asks one.
“I set my dead husband and his mistress on fire. Now I watch them burn.”