matchstick EXECUTIONER

He loved s’mores on those campouts with his father. He’d put the graham cracker loaded with chocolate on a rock near the heat of the fire so that when it was smashed together with the roasted marshmallow everything just oozed into one gloppy mess, generally dripping onto his lap.

But really he would have been as happy with only the mallows. There was always an extra bag that would last through the night long after the chocolate and grahams were gone. They’d sit for hours at the fireside, roasting mallow after mallow as papa told elaborate ghost stories, ever so often breaking out into his low, familiar laugh as his boy’s wide-eyed stare resulted in a forgotten marshmallow bursting into flames over the fire.