tagNon-EroticThe Flame

The Flame


Sitting in a very dark room with no windows and no light; my hand holds a small slender candle, the flame flickers softly. The only thing fanning the flame is my breath while I sit and look down on it. It is a weak flame but still burning. I have taken great care to keep it burning, keeping it alive, hiding it from those that would want to blow it out and forever silence its glow.

A sound startles me. A door creaks open, then I hear it creak slowly back closed. A small light flickers in that direction, nothing more. Slow steady steps bring the flame closer my way, growing in the darkness. When the steps get closer I see the image of someone, closer still, it is a man. The man is holding a single slender candle in his hands, walking slowly to keep the flame from going out, sheltering it slightly with his free hand.

He comes closer. I can see the reflection of the flame in his eyes. There is a questioning look on his face. Not knowing what his question is I remain seated glancing downward holding my candle gingerly in my hand. Cupping my other hand behind it, I protect it from this person.

From the corner of my vision I see his flame when he starts to extend his hand and his candle toward me. Fearful his thoughts and without looking I instinctively pulled my candle away. When I glance his direction, I see that his movement has stopped. He is now standing beside me. Slowly I look up toward his face. There is a slight smile there, a caring smile that extends up toward his eyes bringing a twinkle to them, putting me at ease a little.

My eyes fall to his candle. The slender candle has marks on its sides. The marks are in the form of white spots, like something or someone has thrown things at it, bruising the wax. In some areas there are actually pits marks like another flame has touched it on the side starting to melt it in the middle, instead of at the top where the wick is. Seeing the marks on the candle I try to look closer. I see what looks to be a line around it. He slowly moves it closer for my inquisitive eyes, not moving his body closer, he simply extend his arm toward me with the candle in his hand. Although moving slowly to keep the flame protected, when his movement stops, the top half of the candle above the line moves slightly from side to side. I'm startled to realize that his candle is actually broken. The only thing keeping it together is the thin small wick that runs through the middle of it.

My eyes move from this revelation to look into his eyes. I see that same caring smile, but also a sadness in his eyes. It is not the type of sadness that prompts one to feel pity, instead it is the type of sadness that tells of ones desire to feel hope, that... longing.

Without realizing I moved my candle back in front of me during this time as I sit there thinking. I have never looked at my own candle past the flame. Slowly my eyes look down the slender candle. I see those same white bruise marks on the tender wax, the pit marks from the other flames and right at the base I see a line that runs around the candle, just like his. When I open my hand to look closer, the top of my candle starts to sway. My hand has been holding my broken candle upright all along. I can't stop myself from looking, and yet I know if I open my hand the candle will most likely topple over. Tears fill my eyes at this decision. My hand opens and the candle starts to fall in slow motion. I can't seem to stop it.

The man has seen my thoughts and my choice to look more closely. He knew what would happen. He waited and let me make my choice, and yet his hand shot out the instant to grasp the top of my candle, keeping it from falling over and going out. At the same time his hand touched my hand. Time stood still.

I was unable to stop the flow of tears from my eyes and yet at the same time a slow smile forming on my lips. I look up at him and I see those same tears and that same smile on his face...that of knowing, an understanding. His hand covering mine holding my candle, both of us turned our gaze toward the flame.

He sat down beside me. I slowly reach over to touch his candle. I ran my finger slowly over the bruise marks, feeling them with my fingertips, feeling his pain as my own. My finger runs down the side of the candle. It came to rest at the top of his hand, my fingers wrap around his hand and we hold the candle together. My grasp on my candle released slowly and I allow him to hold it for me. In the next instant I feel his hand moving under mine as he allows me to hold his candle. Trust is formed, out of a sense of knowing what each other is feeling without words.

The fingers of his free hand examine my candle and he sees that it feels much like his own. The bruises and burn marks are in different areas but they are one in the same. Moving his fingertips from the candle, he reaches to wipe the single tear from my cheek. I allow him to touch me. I feel the warmth of his touch and the warmth of his gaze on me. Lifting my eyes to meet his, there is no longer that questioning look or that sadness there. I see a sense of renewal, a strength of sorts, a recognition that we are not alone.

We face one another, it is as if our thoughts are mingled as one. Something inside me wants to say something but no words will come, so I speak instead with the passion inside me... The Flame... I extend the candle toward him. Seeing the flow of my movements, he extends his hand as well until our hands are almost touching. The candles flames are side by side burning brightly, dancing, casting a glow that brightens this place. It is the strength of the two together. Without words, we tip the candle flames toward one another to form one single flame.

When we unite the flames the glow is so much brighter, allowing us to see a tunnel leading out of this place. With candles in hand we stand and walk together toward the tunnel, leaving the darkness behind us.

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bywindwriter© 0 comments/ 5792 views/ 0 favorites

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