Valeria

Elena struck a match, the small flame glowing in her hand, with her eyes cold as she held it close to Eduardo’s fuel-soaked body. I stood frozen, with my heart pounding, my rage exploding inside me. Eduardo’s clothes dripped with gasoline, his wrinkled hands shaking as he clutched an unlit match, his face wet with tears and fuel. “He’s going to die,” I thought, my stomach twisting with horror.

I was furious at Elena for her cruelty, and at Dante for standing there, ...