Young Writers Society

Dear readers, it seems that you have found yourself in a very unfortunate, miserable place. I plead with you, with every last drop of life in my fragile, lighter body, to turn away now. Stop reading. Do not blame me for the heartbreak you are about to feel, as you read the last lines of my great tale of woe.

Consider yourself warned.

I awoke, after my 48-hour slumber, to behold the most excruciatingly painful thing possible for any lighter in love to see. I found myself in the pits of Hell, also known as the trash can, which is the place of no return. The deepest of all depths of sorrow can be found in this dusty, dreadful place. I felt something sharp poking at my metal. Immediately, I tried to move to protect my fragile frame. It seemed that I was lying on a pile of broken glass. Something must have shattered beyond repair and been thrown into the trash by the human.

Immediately, my mind was filled with thoughts of Mon Amour, Candlet, my spicy Pumpkin girl. Was she safe? Every piece of my soul longed to be with her, wrapped in her scorching hot wick, kissing her lips, and watching her wax melt faster than ice cream in a microwave.

"Candlet! Candlet!" I screamed, longing for my love to appear above me. Normally it was me flying down to meet her, but all I desired at this moment was for her to come down from the endless sky above, sweep me away, and hold me, never letting go.

But she did not answer. This was when I realized, that the glass I was resting on was ever so familiar. It was perfectly smooth and perfectly spicy in a way that could only mean one thing: I was resting on the remains of Candlet, my only love and my only reason to live. I felt a complete shock go through my tiny lighter frame, from my nozzle to my adjusting wheel, to my fuel space.

"Oh Candlet," I whispered, softly, my voice trembling.

Even saying her name seemed to kill me more. To my right, I saw the remains of what was Candlet's wick. "Oh, mon Dieu," I spoke, as I positioned myself so I was lying beside her. I lay there, on the shards of the one dearest to me, and cried. She may have a shattered glass container, but in that moment, my heart was shattered, irreversibly, into just as many pieces as Candlet.

"Candlet," I whispered, gently, "let me light you. One last time."

With those words, I fought as hard as I could to spark a flame for the final time. I kissed her softly, making sure to not damage her anymore. My kisses grazed her wick like a cool breeze. I held back my tears because I didn't want to extinguish my flame. Her wick caught the flame for a brief moment, before extinguishing. Her wick burned away, leaving me with only ash, which was soon was gone after melting under my tears. It felt like I killed her, in that moment.

So here we are. At the present moment, where my mind is overwhelmed and burdened with only one longing. A longing for my Candlet. Mon petit ange. Oh! Si tu pouvais lire dans mon coeur, tu verrais la place où je t'ai mise!

I know what must be done.

La Raison parle, mais l'Amour chante. I only sing for you, Candlet, beyond all ideas of sanity and insanity, I will hold you 'till my death. Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.

O happy glass, this is thy sheath. Your remains are sharp. Thus with a kiss I die.

-

I, Baselle, the basil plant, am so close to death, that I can hear its whisper.

My human had tears in her eyes as she dropped me into my grave. Due to her spending too much time writing her novel, she had completely neglected me in the last weeks of my life. I remember the way it used to be. We were so close. She watered me daily and made sure that my leaves stayed bright green. I was the prettiest basil plant in the apartment complex. She often left me outside, to mingle with my boyfriend, Chad. I tremble as I speak his name.

I remember our days in the sun together. Chad and I would hold leaves and pray our owners would never take us back inside. He was large in stature and had muscles for days. I remember him, kissing me softly, as the sunset. The cool breeze blowing through my leaves. He told me he loved me. He told me I was special. This thyme-less memory will live engraved in my heart for all of eternity and time itself.

That was the last time we touched. I watched him die after that. My owner continued to sit me on the porch daily, but Chad never showed up. I saw him one day. Behind the neighbour's window. Withered. Dead. Alone. Forgotten.

And here I find myself, with a single green leaf left. It is my time, to return to Chad again.

As my human dropped me into my grave, the trash can, I felt a sense of calm. Soon, my suffering would be over. Soon I would be held by Chad's leaves again and maybe, just maybe, we could finally live our dream of cross-pollinating and starting a family.

As I hit the bottom of the depths of despair, I landed on something sharp. The site before my eyes was horrific and terrified me to my roots. I saw none other than the remains of Candlet. Smashed to a million little pieces of glass. As well as my dear friend, Lighterio. Death had consumed his small, tender frame. It seems that he had impaled himself with none other than the glass of the one he loved most dear. As my eyes fell upon this dreadful site, I craved death so dearly. I desired to enter my eternal sleep, to meet my friends and my lover again, my sweet Chadrick.

All I have done is pray for my final leaf to fall. As I lie here, in this dreary place, I watch myself die, as my brown leaves fall and crumble on top of the remains of my friends below. Expelling oxygen has become increasingly difficult and I am tired. So tired. So alone. I can barely keep my eyes open.

There is no hope left for life, only for death. In my days of life, I was known as a sorcerer and a healer. I was known as a girl with the answers to every problem. Well, it seems that my answers have only caused pain. Now all that there is left to do is pray for relief. And pray that we will be together someday, without pain, without abandonment.

Even as my last leaf falls, I breathe your love, Chad.

For never was a story of more woe, Than this of Candlet and her Lighterio.