Candle in the dark

A Candle in the Dark

The door opens with a loud creak, echoing endlessly about the building as you step through. These dark hall seem to span miles and miles, illuminated only by the sour candle light you grip tightly in your hand. The wind wails wildly outside, like a soul storm bent on scaring away all thoughts of sleep. A breeze wafts in from a crack in the ceiling but thankfully it is too small for any major gust. Still, the frigid air chills your bare skin, the candle dancing in the tiniest melody of the skies sonata that waits beyond these walls.

You hold the flame closer to your body, careful to not seer its good gestures into your flesh yet eager to feel its warmth. The way its light invigorates and rejuvenates your freezing fingers stops you in your tracks for a moment, kept in a kind of greedy comfort as callous cold consumes this place. It seems to be a beauty, fragile as a thin sheet of glass yet tough enough to be your angel for a few minutes more.

The sound of your footsteps continue to bounce off the walls as you find your stride once more. The creepy concrete crumbles away in places leaving empty pockets in the walls. Little absences dotting every surface, similar to a nest of ants. No ants could live here though. It is by far too cold and windy. Maybe in some deeper tunnel you could find the excavator, cherishing his stolen bits and pieces. Should you return what was stolen? Take the time to seek out every rock and ridge so a dream may be fulfilled? It would be easier to leave them. Its not like anyone else would be hurt by it.

One step, two step, three. You lose count eventually but it appears as though you've traveled an  eternity before doing so. The light still stays at your side, the wick quite thick yet seemingly stubbier than the last glance. Unknowing of its fate it burns on. Neither does it flourish with magnificent heat nor spark low to delay the demise. It simply is, and being as it is gives it all the reason it needs to be. A shame you both don't agree.For what does this flame know of life. It can't feel any pain, nor sorrow. A tear would be a fatal thought for it. Surely this thing doesn't understand. How could it even try.

You sniff a bit, holding back for fear any extra buffet may extinguish the glow. Who would light the path for you then? No moon nor stars dare unmask themselves in this tempest. It's only the candle here to tear away the darkness. Only the candles and you. You come to a crossroads and the flame stands still, the corridors alluding to two different destinations. You know not to stumble here for long, unless you wish to join those who came before. Lessons learnt once can pave the path ahead as someone probably said. So as silent as ever you shuffle down the path you think is right, the icy cobwebs of ancient arachnids falling to the ground with a soft "poof".

You see this devils dust across the rooms you pass, things so removed from the time of this world not even the breath of god could renew them. Crushed cradles and rocking chairs sitting side by side in amnesty. Among these things lies a thin and tall frame, too bulky to have been a woman yet too delicate to have been any hardworking man. The dust liked to gather around him, a small long faded photo in one hand and a little tray of wax in the other, blackened by some sinister shadow. You do not enter yet feel bittersweet as you walk by.

It is then you turn a corner and see it, standing proudly at the end of the hall, as if it owned the space beyond. Little by little you edge forward, the trembling of your wrists making the light flicker in fear. In a panic you grind to a halt, too scared to plod on and awaiting the end at the same time. So you close your eyes, sacrificing only the light your comrade supplies to banish the thought of seeing it's end. With the warmth as your only guide you venture forward again.

How long until you reach it? A second? An hour? The crimson clock in your chest ticks on at every beat, without rest yet without crescendo. How much more can you withstand? The growing silence like a cancerous mole, breathing down your neck with worry. Are you there yet? I cant tell either. Its seems as if we will be here till the end, or at least until-...

The warmth faded.