The Candle

I took an online writing course and I wrote this piece for one of my assignments.

Flisck … a shimmery column flashes; earthy green, burnt orange. Flisck … black. Flisck… gases combust, igniting the tip of a powdery blue lighter. The flame illuminates only but a few feet of space beyond its source. Subtly hissing as it wavers through the darkness, searching… seeking. There! There it is, mounted atop its curvaceous yet sturdy pillar. There in the shadows stands firm the tri-toned candle. Its base maroon and marbled with a deep burgundy, morphing into a cindery orange before shifting to a yellow so pale it bears resemblance to a canary being leeched of its hue by the hand of death; the color combination is exquisite, stunning. Wait… what is this? As the flame nears the elegantly composed wax, revealed is the fact that this indeed is not an object of beauty but distortion. The mouth is deformed and gaping, concealing a slender bowed jet-black tongue. The candle stands silently waiting its revival.

Once the transference of fire has occurred, the candle lets out a crackle. Additional light floods the emptiness as the flame doubles in size. The flame licks at the oxygen surrounding it, hungrily consuming the molecules that bestow life. Soon thereafter, a delicate vanilla aroma seeps into the air. I pity the insect that cannot resist, believing this candle may taste as delectable as it smells.

The End

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