I finally managed to make my way back to my old desk, at the place I work part-time while doing this PhD thing. I’d been bumped out, you see, because I’m only there a few hours a week, and work from home whenever possible.
Apparently, the last guy who had my desk was a smoker (and has returned to the Accounting department). 
He took away most of his stuff (particular thanks goes to him removing his tea-cup, complete with … old tea in it). He didn’t take away the evidence of his smoking habit, though: Swan Vestas.
Smoking Kills, apparently. Or, no, it’s not that. FIRE kills. By creeping up onto your arm, if you’re a kid, and engulfing it, leaving you to stand there, wailing. After being struck gently, away from body.
Reminds me of that old news item stating that a small-town fire crew arrived at a house where they found a man in a bed that was on fire. After the fire was put out, they asked him how it happened. His response?? “I don’t know. It was on fire when I lay down on it.”
I think the act of striking gently away can help instigate child fires. As matches are lit for their (the children’s) cigarette. Can’t very well burn an adult. Isn’t on the packaging. And we aren’t as flammable anyways. 😉
Surely fire kill everyone, not just children?
Well … I’d have to say that it’s a matter of mass, really. You see, I think it’s to do with the size of the match, relative to the size of the child. We’re probably both relatively similar in terms of flammability, but kids just have smaller fingers. You know: like kindling, more.