The Fire Of Freedom
The candle flame danced seductively as I gazed into its unending depths. The curtains twirling in a lopsided pirouette caught my eye for the briefest of moments, yet my gaze was drawn back to the flame. It would take one motion to end it all, to send the flame dancing across everything in its path leaving nothing untouched. I would make my way from the house leaving no evidence, not a fingerprint would be found. Have you ever considered murder to get what you want? I have. In fact, I’ve more than considered it. The tools I need sit before mee, their wishes humming discordantly in my mind. My consideration has become a monster inside my head, tempting and taunting me in a haunting song of ambivalence.
“tip the candle. Tip it.” The lyrics called to me. I clutched my head in manic desperation, wanting it all to stop. To end. So, with one quick yet uncertain motion, I tip the candle. The flames spread rapidly, eating papers and books that lay in their path. With that, I’m up and out the window. Running. Running and choking on my crimes. My heart pounds heavily in my chest like a jackhammer, yet I do not stop to rest or turn back to watch what I have done unfold.
The voices have stopped now, the loss of music making my head feel empty and desolate. If I concentrate hard enough though, one voice remains. It sings of my freedom and how I shall never be found. I lean into the voice, allowing it to give me strength. With my new found strength I run free; my wishes granted at last.