Fire in an Ember

Under the sleepy kitchen light, the bright red liquid oozed out from between the skin slits as the nerves sent pain signals to alert the then tired brain. Before the general awakened, the second-in-command named instincts screamed orders to drop the sharp culprit into the sink and attend to the young victim quickly. Like a siren on an ambulance, two things were immediately called for: sanitation and bandage.

At first, water tried to sooth the red tears away, in hope that it would stop soon. Why would it no stop? No, it wouldn't do, it would make things worse, I soon realized. In a frenzy search for a better cure, the nearby white paper towel was seized to blot the red human ink away to prevent it from accumulating enough to start dripping away with the little help of gravity.

Sanitation, sanitation, sanitation, panic, panic, panic, hurt, hurt, hurt, where, where, where?

A forgotten dusty little plastic jar of golden sweet gold caught my eye. My memory reminded me of where the bandage was located.

In a swift movement, I grabbed them both with a blunt butter knife and somehow found myself sitting at the dining table. I could barely remember on how it happened. Like a surgeon, I carefully attained a small portion of honey at the tip of the culinary and I dabbed it on my wound.

The blood raised and tried to disperse itself in the thick honey. It struggled in the thick foggy maze; but to feel more lost than ever. It was only natural for it to surrender in the golden viscous liquid chamber. Yet, it never sank, it never raised like a dead body in the sea. It remained where it was, it drowned without ever knowing.

As the observer, I was mesmerized by its unexpected beauty for a second. I never ever thought that I would gain something out of this little ordeal.

It is because it looked like a red flame trapped inside an ember. Forever trapped, forever the same, forever just there, forever struggling and burning inside. How is it that such small little thing like this can be so beautiful?

As if to put it to rest, I placed the bandage over the dead living flame. I could hear the ember cracked and dissolved into liquid, smashing the eternal flame within. It had no last words; just disappear gracefully.

In my heart, I said a little prayer: Good night, fire, you need not fight anymore. No more.



Inspired by that little accident in the kitchen. Copyright.