I flickered into
being on the end of a match. As always, the hunger sprung to
life inside me instantly, demanding I consume everything in sight. I was beginning to learn how to restrain it, however, and I was able to
keep my mind clear this time.
The air around
me was cold, colder than I was used to. I cast my senses farther, trying to get some idea of my surroundings. The hand that held me was a
light yellow – also colder than the norm. It must be winter,
that bleak time of cold. I could tell from the heat signatures that
she was a young girl. A cold, dark blue basin curved away beneath me,
and I could feel the dreaded signature of water nearby.
She moved her
arm, and the sudden movement disorientated me, the world becoming a
wash of reds, yellows, blues and purples until the match stopped next
to a candle wick. I transferred myself onto it, relieved. The match
wouldn’t have lasted much longer. The next step would have been
her fingers, and I hated burning living things. I wouldn’t have
had a choice, though – the hunger would have taken over, like
last time. I still felt bad about that. She blew out the small part
of me that was still on the match, but it caused me no pain – I
had already separated my mind from it.
Soon after I had
centered myself on the candle and was burning comfortably, I felt a
jumble of sound waves coming from beyond a light blue wall. Someone
was speaking – yelling, going by the volume. The Old Ones said
that one day, I would be able to understand human speech, but at
times I doubted it. All I could tell was that the speaker had a low
voice, and so was probably male.
The noise
certainly provoked a reaction in the girl, however. She straightened
up with a jerk, her face contorting in some emotion I couldn’t
quite recognize – fear or anger, I think – and turned to
face the direction of the voice. She shouted something back.
He responded, sounding angrier than before. I wondered what they were
arguing about.
The girl visibly deflated, turning back to me and sighing. Fear shot
through me as the rush of air threatened to snuff out my fragile
life, but thankfully the gust wasn’t strong enough to do any
real damage. She cupped her hands around my candle and lifted gently.
This time, since I was prepared and in a better position than the end
of a match, it wasn’t quite as disorienting.
She exited the small room and crossed a much larger space, walking
slowly, probably to make sure she didn’t drop me. A wave of
heat rolled over me, and I cast my senses about for the source. I
barely noticed the girl glance at the slovenly man on the couch
before I fixated on the source of that blessed warmth. Fire! And not
a tiny flame like me, but a proper fire, roaring and crackling,
providing heat to the whole room. It would be made up of dozens of
flames like me, as well as at least one Old One – it was that
large.
The hunger roared to life inside of me. Every fiber of my being ached
with the urge to join them, to bask in that warmth and feed.
This little taste of warmth wasn’t enough – I needed
more. I needed to dance with the other flames, to flicker over the
logs, able to satisfy the hunger without destroying something
precious. I was well aware of the damage flames could cause. If I only could join them. Then I could satiate my hunger without having to
feel guilty.
The girl turned into another room, and the moment was lost. Slowly,
the hunger subsided, and I could think again. She set me on a small
surface next to a squishy thing I thought was called a bed, then left
again, turning off the light as she went.
I was the only source of light in the room. I burned steadily for a
while, enjoying the pure sensations of being a flame. Then I watched the little particles from the candle float through the room. Apparently, those particles were the reason humans lit candles - it made the air "smell" good - whatever that meant. When I tired of
that, I cast my heat sense out and began quizzing myself on the names
of human objects.
I was trying to remember the name of a flammable substance in
a short and squat can, when I was startled out of my reverie by more
sounds of arguing. This time, the girl’s higher voice mixed
with the low voice of the male on the couch I had seen. Soon, they had both
lost their temper, shouting so loudly the reverberations rippled through the house. I felt the sound of glass hitting a wall. One of them must have thrown a glass bottle.
A few minutes later, the shouting stopped abruptly. The girl burst
through the door of the room where I burned, slamming it behind her.
She flicked the light on and sank down on the bed, her face in her
hands. She was making an odd, sobbing noise, her whole body
shuddering with each gasp. Salty water seemed to be leaking out of
her eyes. I cast my mind about for an explanation of her behavior,
and then I realized.
She was crying. That was how humans expressed sadness, I remembered.
I could only assume that it was tied to the shouting match that had
just taken place. I wished there was something I could do to help.
Her posture of abject defeat and sorrow was heartbreaking.
She looked up and saw me, smiling sadly through her tears. She
stretched out her hands, a cold light yellow, and held them close
over my flame to warm them. Too close.
The hunger surged to life again inside me, demanding I take advantage
of her carelessness. I yearned to leap the short distance to her
hands, to burn them and use their heat to fuel myself. It raged
inside of me like it always did when given the chance, an
unquenchable monster.
This time, though, I struggled against it with all my might. She
didn’t deserve to be burned just to give me momentary
satisfaction. It was the least I could do to restrain myself. I
wrestled with it, resisting the temptation to give in the base desire
that had forever plagued my race, struggling to cram it down into one
corner of my mind, where it could be contained.
But I did it. I had to. I couldn’t allow myself to hurt someone
again because of this terrible urge. The battle was exhausting –
I could feel myself slipping, moment by moment – but I forced
myself to remain on the candle wick. I couldn’t let my guard
down, even for a moment – if I did, it would consume me.
At last, she pulled her hands away, smiling a little more. I relaxed,
relief flooding through me. I had done it. The hunger could be
overcome! I might not have been able to do it every time, but I had
done it once, and that knowledge filled me with hope. I didn’t
need to join a roaring fire to do some good. I could restrain my
instincts, and my small flame could comfort a crying girl.
-
Much later, when I had returned to that Middle Place we visited
between our short lives, an Old One approached me about my
achievement. He only had a few words for me.
“Well done, my friend. You have taken your first step on the
path to godhood.”
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