More than a phobia.
Racing up the walls of her imagination.
Consuming her, consuming her family.
Moving furniture from heaters.
Crying in her bed at night,
because what if at midnight a spark ignites them all.
What if they wake up too late.
Just as the smoke is already in their lungs,
and the flames are burning their skin.
The fear is a flaming constant,
an obsession, a burning reminder.
In the morning it recedes,
but as the sun sets it lights up again.