Melissa Connolly
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The Flame
In old times, there were men who, in their folly, sought immortality. But the gods are jealous, and their gifts are often twisted. The candle lights the eyes with a ghostly glow that accompanies the choking stench of incense. The thought is, the finer the quality of the incense, the more holy the place becomes. That one can smell the scent of the gods in the form of fragrance is, to worshippers of the modern age, only one example of one of those quaint superstitions of their ancestors. The flames roar, filling the room; filling her ears with the roaring of waves in long lost memories. This is the sound of endless waves lapping against the shores. The candle's flames glow like the sun, but in a hallucinatory intensity. It is as if she is the center of this fiery light. The man sits beside the woman, watching the streams of flame as they reach upward into a transcendent light. With no words, the man approaches the flame and stares into the display of hypnotic fire. The goddesses of old raved about their majesty and too many male gods were lost to the allure… or perhaps they were not lost at all, but subsumed, or even enslaved to the powers of the sun. In her hands, the woman holds a small heart-shaped locket, and the flames bring her an illusion of her reflection.
By Melissa Connolly3 years ago in Fiction