First The Story of the Dying Flame

When a flame dies, there is a brief moment when it neither burns nor is it yet smoke. It's the time given to the flame to contemplate it's life and existence.

Perhaps for some it's a moment of glorification, as a guide in darkness of night the flame led strangers to their destinies or on a cold night kept a young family warm.

My story is neither.

Once upon a moment, when I was still a flame, envied by all. Some claimed I let out a glow that was directly from the heavens. The finest oils and wax were used when I was being prepared. I had the capacity to give warmth and light to hundreds and pass on my flame from one wick to another.

But instead I chose to dance dangerously with the howling winds, flickering and relentlessly burning anyone who came near me, even though they came to protect me. As time went by and the wind died down .. I slowly was becoming weaker. I dimmed to a steady motionless yellow.

I befriended shadows, lies and whispering evils. replacing the once lively open room for a dark misty uninviting corner. They would wrap themselves around me. The air became unpleasant, musty, and dry. Unable to breathe as I did before I dimmed to a steady motionless yellow.

Sometimes I thought to fight and to live. Other times, I cursed myself for not even having enough strength to end my own life. This continuous struggle to choose to fight for life -- not even knowing what it means to live anymore-- or to free myself from the exhaustion of being alive. The air was thick and suffocating. Slowly as I gasped for air,I stopped giving warmth and got dimmer. I was offered more oil, but turned it down.

Darkness which could never touch me, crept closer, until I could no longer map the walls and corridors which led the wandering children around me. I became a sad withdrawn sapphire-blue, now entirely alone in my own darkness, hardly visible. The time must be near, I told myself. Just let go of the wick. But I didn't even have the strength to do that.

I suppose it was a favor that a child stopped in his tracks, took pity on me. He had come real close to me, just to see if there still was a flame burning in such a dark place. When he found me, he stared at me as if reading my soul as if knowing everything and understanding my exhaustion. I tried my best to look back agreeingly. He knew what he had to do. It didn't take much of an effort in part, just a quick short blow from his mouth. For me however, it was the beginning of my end. After all, I was a dying flame.