I woke from a heavy slumber upon being lit again.
A mere stub now… That stature and pride of youth gone, but leaving behind like molten wax trickling down my wintry body, the illumination of wisdom that comes with time and a lifetime of service.
Would you like to hear a dying light’s flickering words that may spark up some of your own, dear reader? Would you like to share these silent, luminescent moments this doomed night, just you and me?
Oh I would introduce myself, but what’s in a flame, eh? Is that a cackle of laughter I hear from you, or just a crackle from my own fire, clinging on to the moribund mortal’s undying hope to leave behind something memorable – a smile on your lips perhaps?
But still I maintain, that there’s nothing in a flame.
And once I’m an obsolete, hardened, cold mess – won’t you refer to me as just the body, a shadowless flame, no recollection of my service – immediately replaced by another more valuable, (replete with promise of persistence and long lasting loyalty)?
But I bear no heated feelings for you, benevolent one, that gave me lasting memories; bright mind, that enlightened me with engrossing pages I perused beside you; and kind one, that forgave me when, unbeknownst to me, I shed an ivory tear or two upon your skin…
The clock ticks away.
Take a look out that floor length window partly palled by the pink drapes that seem crimson in the dark – oh, take a look, dear reader, won’t you? – for tonight, even the moon looks dull – for this last light of mine shines with more passion, more vigour than any moon or even the thousand stars in the shimmering chandelier of the nocturnal sky. I sigh even as the wind sends a soft good-bye breeze to me… No windflaw for us tonight, dear reader. Just the warmth of my fire, and you – sitting here, reading me…
Ah, look, the lonely moth, my old friend, has come to visit and hover by me, whispering goodbye.
You dismiss it with a wave of your impatient hand, ever so slightly swaying the wispy flame that rests upon my wick.
Close call, whew!
These past few minutes have weakened me and the pinkish red glow of my youth has almost vanished, making me blue… a thin ash-gray begins to escape straight up to the heavens, and for a moment, I burn bright, bright, bright as the yellow sun – watch closely, for you might just miss it!
Did you see that? A grand glow, wasn’t it? Such sparkling splendour! Oh will you remember that for me, dear reader?
But now I begin to see the pale daylight – never a good sign for one like me! No, it’s not the dawn, dear, it’s me! Poor me, that is fading away, melting into my own self…
But fret not, my friend, for I am merry and content in the knowledge of having fulfilled my purpose, served this lost world, and brightened your dark times…
This white light is almost blinding…
It’s time to go.
But promise me one thing, dear reader, will you? Promise me you’ll rem-
© Isha Garg
Doodle by Isha Garg