The Wax Friend

New Friend

A young gentleman sat lonely in his chair, crafting the things that enveloped his life: candles. Mikal is his name, or at least that is all he ever let anyone call him. He was never addressed by his last name; no one knew his full name, or even a nickname for that matter.

Mikal never really had friends growing up as he always had trouble connecting with others. On Multiple occasions he was told, "Mikal, you will never amount to anything." People were afraid of him due to his differences. Of course, Mikal believed what everyone else had to say. They always seemed to be right. Little did Mikal know that he would grow up and create the scents and decorations that would capture people.

Often Mikal thought about his childhood and of all the mean things people said to him. But he also thought about the beauty that came out of those words, incorporating it into the work he does now.

A musty smell hung suspended in the air, bringing Mikal back to reality. Realization dawned on him; he had lost focus, and the once solid wax was now a smoking puddle at the bottom of the once cold steel pot. Quickly, he scraped at the pot, screeching as he removed the thick paste from the steel. Exasperated, Mikal cleaned the pot, placing more wax inside to be melted, intent on paying close attention this time.

Watching as the wax transformed from a solid figure into a milky substance, Mikal prepared the various wicks that he would sculpt into beautiful candles. He portioned out the liquid to create the perfect palette. As inspiration hit, Mikal grasped the small rope, dipping it in the various colors.

After hours of working, Mikal had used all the wax in the confines of his apartment; hundreds of candles hung loosely above his head. Pleased with his previous accomplishment, Mikal turned off the stove, or at least he thought so, and in his tired state he moved briskly to his bed.

Hours had passed, and the flame of the stove grew massive. The larger it grew , the more heat it acquired. The recently crafted candles took notice of the elevating heat, and slowly they dripped to the ground, creating a massive void of color on the loft floor. As the mass expanded, noticeable changes began; as the colors moved, they formed human like features. Slowly, those features came to form a body with an array of colors; no feature was a single shade.

"Isaiah," was all he could think or say. The wax figure was so unsure of where he was, who he was, and why he was there. He wandered around, trying to find something that would give him a hint to the questions that were swimming in the cavity where his brain should be.

When Mikal awoke, he felt that someone was there. "How is there someone here; no one has been here in three years," he exclaimed, rushing through his door into the open space. Everything seemed normal at first. There was a fast movement to the left, and he was not sure what it could possibly be. There was a quiet sound in the corner, like a voice, but not quite human.

"Hello," said Isaiah when he saw Mikal.

Mikal jumped, taken aback by the figure that was standing before him.

Isaiah stepped two sluggish strides in in Mikal's direction, hoping he could give Isaiah some sort of guidance.

With every step that Isaiah took, the more concerned Mikal became; jumping at the slightest movements. "Who are you?" Mikal whispered. When there was no reply he repeated it at an audible volume," Who are you?"

Isaiah looked at him inquisitively. He should know who I am, shouldn't he? Isaiah thought to himself. "You do not know who I am?" struggling to speak the words.

Mikal proclaimed, "Why would I know-" Looking up , he remembered the beautifully crafted candles that he had made the night before, realizing there were none left. Only the wicks were still hanging from the ceiling.

"Stepping closer to the figure he proclaimed, "How did you get in here." Mikal hoped for answers. Who is this? How did he get in? Did he disturb my work? Should i call police?

Frozen, Isaiah uttered, "Can you tell me where I am?"

"One moment, I need to think!" The words rushed out of Mikal's mouth before he could think. Ask if he remembers his name, that may help. "Sir, what is your name?"

"Isaiah, I believe."

"Isaiah?" Mikal said under his breath. "For some reason that sounds oddly familiar." When it hit him, Mikal fell to the ground and began sobbing, remembering the imaginary friend who once comforted him. Isaiah had been his name, and he was there when Mikal needed him the most, when no one else was there to listen. "Welcome home," Mikal whispered into his hands, muffled and wet.

"Home? That sounds nice." Isaiah did not know what a home was , but if he belonged there then it must be good. Isaiah had shifted his attention from Mikal to comprehend what had been said. He heard a shuffling, and before he could look, Mikal had lifted himself up and was embracing Isaiah, his first hug.

For days, they spent every waking moment together. Mikal showed Isaiah around town; going to the museums, taking hikes through the town forest, and most of all, they sat in the coffee shop just talking about the life Mikal had lived and the hardships he faced. Mikal had finally found the friend he never had.

"We talk a lot about your past, can I ask you something about what you do now?" Isaiah asked concerned.

"Yes, why would you think you couldn't?" Mikal proclaimed in shock.

"Where do you get that green paper? The m-m-m-mon-"

"The money! I make candles out of wax, like you. Actually, I need to get more wax so I can make some more." Mikal said as he pulled out his wallet, checking the to see how much money he had left.