Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Flame of Fire

The crimson luminescence started as a flame. Which started from nothing. But a carved piece of molten wax. And nobody dared fear that flame. So diminutive and cherubic. Cultivating passion, warmth, and radiance. Too innocent. But the wise man couldn’t see the duplicity behind the incandescent twinkle. Couldn’t discern the potential that flare had. Potential to ring havoc in jarring chimes. Potential to conceive horrors. That could infiltrate the world and his life. Potential to become a dangerous weapon. Of destruction. And that was the man’s most extensive trial. And last error.

It is of the wise man’s principles to never underestimate the power of something. No matter how small. To never overlook evil and only distinguish outer beauty. To never be careless and forgetful. But the old man eluded his principles this dire night. He felt faint and overworked. And he let his guard down. And became careless and forgetful. He forgot that as he set the candle into its shimmering glass crock, the window adjacent remained open, introducing a starry night sky. And as he left to retire to his chamber, the wind bellowed in gently, rocking the jar back and forth. And as the wind’s wails grew louder, gradually the rocking intensified. The clamorous thuds on the tablecloth began to jolt the polished legs fastened to the floor. And ever so slowly, the crock edged forward. The rhythmic beats of Mother Nature’s elements were like that of a ticking time bomb. Just waiting to explode. And it did. With a final push, the wind thrust the crock off the slender table onto the floor.

An explosion erupted. Glass shards menacingly collided with the walls in every direction, pinning themselves into it with their needle tips. The sticky wax burst into modicums as the dwindling flame ignited the glossy hardwood floor and its gleaming luster. And that marked the beginning of the end. Floor alight with fire. The devil’s face dancing victoriously with wicked grins. His unrelenting flames ravaging the house. Burning lives and tearing souls. Fear feasting greedily upon the wise man’s widening eyes. Melancholy’s sardonic smile as comprehension dawned on the man’s face. And then Death coming to steal life and recompense it with himself. And though these monsters continued to consume the wise man’s world, he found the calmness in him to speculate. To think his last thoughts as the acrid fumes engulfed his throat. One small flame. One small mistake. And it’s all over.




Join the Discussion


This article has 1 comment. Post your own!

Brooke B. said...
Aug. 11, 2009 at 5:50 am:
I like the words you chose. They go beyond the physical appearance and really make you think.
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Site Feedback