Contained...

She kept it in a box on a shelf in her living room.

It used to be on her bedside table but she found it hard to sleep with it there.

So she moved it to the living room.

The box was sturdy but attractive.

It fit her decor.

Solid metal with lovely scrollwork designs.

Windows for ventilation.

That was important.

If you didn't give it room to breath it would either die or explode.

Neither of those things would be good.

Though they would prefer it died. For her.

So she had the box made specifically for it.

And she kept it there.

In a box on a shelf in her living room.

She used to keep it closer.

With her all the time.

But it really wasn't allowed.

Not really.

Not for her.

It was too dangerous.

It might cause problems for others.

So she was told to let it die.

That that would be better.

Not to feed it.

But she didn't want to let it die.

So she moved it to the box.

She kept it there.

In the box. On the shelf. In her living room.

She watched it now.

The faint glow that had been there.

The one that would keep her up at night when it was on the bedside table.

That faint glow.

That was gone.

The box was now shining full and bright.

There on the shelf in her living room.

Not dead. Fed.

Today she would take the box off of the shelf.

Today she would open the box and take that spark out.

Today she would burn it all to the ground.

Starting with the other boxes on the other shelves in the other living rooms.

Sparks aren't meant to be contained.

No matter who tells you so.