The Tended Flame
What does the burden of someone else's ideological purity look like in your hands and how does its weight feel to bear upon the human soul?
The flame in your hands burnt, but your flesh was never singed. Long ago you were tasked to keep the fire lit. To keep it pure, unsoiled by the darkness you found yourself plunged into every dawn. Your eyes stung from the lack of vision, but the warmth was lovely upon your skin. They all said that it was an honor to protect the flame. Guarding it was to keep the peace and the purity. So, you were selected. Among the masses of feminine faces, yours was chosen.
Despite the light in your hand, the cave was dark like obsidian. It appeared as if the night sky wrapped itself around the stone walls. Ghostly breezes caressed your skin, dragging their dead fingers across your frame. They whispered in your ear and you listened. Ragged and raspy breaths poured words of poisoned honey into your heart. You listened and absorbed it all for what seemed like ages. You stewed in their spoken thoughts as they drowned out your own.
Wrinkles on your brow formed from an eternity’s effort as your skin began to sag from gravity’s hold. But the fire was still bright with the deep orange flames. The ones that licked your hands until they were raw. Each day, the cavernous voices encouraged you to hold the illuminating orb.
To hold it. To protect it.
Years and centuries of silence whispered to your mind to speak. Your mouth had been sewn shut, but the seams were coming loose. When you tried to utter words, nothing appeared but ash and deceased moths. The ghosts attempted to tighten the thread on your lips, but you raised a hand against the shadows of them. One reached to take the flame from your hand, but his movement faded in its light. The fog of his being was evaporated by a single spark, ingested by your inner rage. Brothers of the spirit muttered to keep the fire going.
To hold it. To protect it.
The light from its warm center lit up your face for anyone to see except yourself. And you knew. As you held this life orb, that it was not blood for your veins. It was not something to protect in order to preserve your being.
It was just a flame.
So you let it fall free to the stone pedestal beneath as it darkened and smothered to nothing. Those ghostly breezes were at once surrendered to the night eternal as their screams faded with their presence.
No more voices whispered in your ear.