the flame, the game, the slain

That girl in the mirror.
She doesn't know anything.
She doesn't realize what she's getting herself into.
She only knows.
She only knows she's hurtling forward at a terrifying speed,
Toward the great unknown.

She only follows
The rawness of the soul.
The flame that burns
Day and night.
The flame that flickers
Like a candle.

But she wonders if the soul lies.
If the flame will burn
Out.

Perhaps it was because of the spell cast by Night. By the midnight hour. The early hours. The crack of dawn, that compelled her to observe the lit flame. She wanted to dip her fingers into the glass of fire, she wanted to see what it was like to feel the tongues of flame lick her fingers. It was insane. She is insane. Wild. Spontaneous. That urge was not satisfied.



If only there hadn't been another person there, watching her. She continued to stare at the flame. Minutes passed. She busied herself with something important, yet the flame was always in the corner of her eyes, in her mind. It lingered. And eventually, that watchful person snuffed it out. Extinguished the flame with a couple of tries. It was sad.



The flame disappeared.