I never understood why Amy had so many lighters. It was odd, considering that she didn't smoke. Whenever she was asked, she would laugh and say, "I'm a pyro!"
This lighter was laying haphazardly on the windowsill. An incense burner sat nearby, so I assumed that the lighter had been used to fuel Amy's incense obsession. The whole apartment smelled like sandalwood and burnt flowers.
The lighter was a bic: cheap and plastic feeling. Amy was too cheap to get a zippo, though I had seen her staring hungrily at them whenever she found a display. Still, this bic suited her tastes. It was covered in artwork portraying a busty woman in a pirate's outfit. Her brown hair curled languidly around the lighter, surrounded by roses and a banner that said "A pirate's life for me" in purple lettering. The backdrop looked like aged and weathered parchment.
I flicked my thumb the smooth round roller, feeling the less smooth outer rollers bite into my skin. My thumb pressed against the red plastic button, feeling the flame so close. I watched it dance for a moment before I released the button and replaced the lighter.
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