literature

Candles In The Wind

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Literature Text

Candles in the Wind

Obsessed with his one thought the young boy lights another candle. The sparks from the lighter create a miniature fireworks show for a split second and then are engulfed in a yellow blaze from the top of the lighter. The candle catches fire. As the wax begins to run down the sides, one bead hits his light tan finger. The boy does not notice the pain, or the wax that is molding into the cracks and lines of his hand. He watches as the top of the ivory white candle melts down to a still, ripless pool. Gently he sets the candle below the others on the ground. Slowly he lights another and another his mind set on this one thought and patter of the candles and their tiny flames which sit in front of him. Slowly he finishes the first word of his flaming message, pools of wax begin silently to merge together, becoming married to each other and to the delicate pattern. With obsessive care the boy, sitting on his knees lights another candle placing it a few feet away starts the second word in his flaming fixation. The second word starts to form its letters slowly showing with small specks of light against a darkened evening ground. The wax runs down the candles and the second word unites with the first. The boy sits back and looks at the two blending words. He reaches into his small wooden box and from it takes a hand full of rose red candles. He lites each candle with precise care, each he watches catch fire and slowly melt the tip away. Delicately and gently he placed them in their exact spots, the places he had blue printed in his mind, the spots in the message that he was crazed with. Finally his task had come to an end. His work now complete. Slowly the boy stands, he turns and walks behind a tree. There he takes hold of a young girl's hand, telling her to close her eyes he brings her around the tree. As he tells her to open her eyes a strong wind blows from the west blowing out all of the candles. When the young girl opens her eyes all that is left of the boy's tedious task was one pool of red and white wax at their feet, and the faint smell of smoke in the air.
Short story written long ago.
© 2008 - 2024 Dystopia3000
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