A hand curved carefully around the tiny flame, providing shelter from the storm. Lost between here and there, desperate to remain. She walked past angry faces, shadows carved from crippled branches dipping and swaying in a devilish dance.
Once, twice the light threatened to die.
The only beacon, she willed it to burn on through the storm. Stronger than the curved hand. Stronger than the beating heart. Her anxiety grew as she felt the slipping of sand through the hour glass like boulders falling from a steep incline, barreling towards expiration.
It was like that here.
Where no light was found, but for the faint spark on a dying candle stick. But there was hope. Hope that sparks became flames and flames became life. She glanced down at the flickering orange oval that was her future. Her mission was not an easy one, but she’d give her life readily to protect the radiance it promised.
Not a fleeting thing. But, a pulse growing stronger, steadier.
Her mouth lifted at the slight brightening of the light, as though it understood their mission. Together they would set the fire of life to this dead place.
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