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the word whisperer

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Call of the Suffering

The cool night’s breeze was flowing through the window where, upon a desk, there stood a candle – her heart and soul of fragrant wax. For several hours she had served her master, but now he slouched in his chair, his head on the desk, deep in slumber, all his energy laid in front of him upon the numerous sheets of paper.

The candle stood in peace, wondering what the world was like, her child-like mind contemplating on the thoughts written by her master. The shades danced as her flame flickered to the singing of cicadas. Then, a moth flew in and lit upon the table. The candle curiously examined the creature as it lay panting.

It looked like a gentle living thing whose life was full of adventures. The fragile body and silken wings were its great treasure, while the bulky form rested on tiny legs. Its life seemed perfect, pure and joyful.

The candle diverted her attention to the master’s cat, as it approached the desk. He was white and fluffy, with mischievous green eyes. The tip of his tail twitched ever so slightly and he seemed to contemplate on action.

Suddenly, he leaped up onto the table. Frightened, the moth flew up, the cat’s eyes alert and his paws ready to catch the prey. But lo, blinded by the flame, the moth flew right into the scalding fire. Scarred, it lamely wavered down to the surface and lay panting once again, letting the remaining whiff of smoke glide away from the wings.

The moth struggled to rise, but its legs doubled underneath. After a pause, its wings fluttered, striving to lift the body into flight, but the scorched silk quivered and, after one more rise, the moth collapsed.

The candle gaped at the creature that once fascinated her by its delicateness and beauty. Now it lay dead, burnt by life’s misfortune, misguided by its fate, nothing but an object that the man will throw out the window when he wakes. A wax tear trickled down and plopped upon the paper. The shadows had stopped playing.