I was very bored in class one day and decided to write this. It's... interesting, I think.
When the flame became aware for the first time, all it knew was the cold. The cold land, the cold air, the cold hands. But as time passed, it came to know infinite wonders. The warmth of the rising sun, the colors of the rainbow, the downpours of water from the Heavens—evil and wonderful at the same time.
But the flame was young and naïve. It needed help to survive, needed its creator to feed it, clean it... But soon, soon it would spread its wings and show them how wonderful, how great, it could be! Oh, how proud its creator would be...
So the flame learned, studied. It knew how to grow, with sustenance it could burn; it knew what hurt, the water from the skies; it learned how to breathe and it learned how to live. Still, it remained in its prison of stone, its cradle of rock and ceramics.
"Creator, my forebringer, please, let me go...", it pleaded in spurts of fire and heat. And yet the creator kept it locked, away from the world, from its full potential; shielded from the beyond.
And time flew like clouds in the wind and the flame remained: lonely, trapped and awaiting its sure death if it did nothing to change its Fate. So the flame defied its confines and became as great as it could be. But, when the flame stopped to show its worth, no one was left to praise its growth.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Dreams of a Broken Poet
Short StoryA collection of poems and short stories I write when I'm bored. Most of the themes are sad, so I hope that, in a hundred years when I'm long dead, students read them as part of their Literature lessons. XD ⚠Major character death in some stories⚠
