Word Count: 1,400
Bradford looked at the candle light and imagined the flickering flame was inside his beating heart. Vital heat of the heart pumps and sucks the crimson liquid of life all around the body and then within the mind it burns like the flame of a candle.
“Both were so different yet one and the same in terms of the flame.” he thought.
The candle within himself burned with a single flame fed by the air. The wax dripped down like blood and the smoke floated out as air from his mouth. His heart was the source of greatness and as well as grief tonight. For as the flame provides light, the wax would soon disappear consumed by the heat, burning down the wick until it was gone.
“Life burns until it can not anymore.” Bradford said, scraping dried wax from the desk.
Tonight he needed to finish writing a major declaration for the general – it had to enthrall the masses and inspire the army. He was nothing short of a perfectionist and hardly held standing as a scholar, yet he was chosen for this task and in good faith of what skill he accumulated, he knew he could do it!
But time was running out and his workstation was a mess!
Papers were scattered everywhere, spilled ink hastily scrubbed away, broken quills between pages of books, and of course the candle holder was caked in wax. Cleaning took too much time and written words took much more – so there was a sacrifice in one compared to the other. He swept the wax shavings off the table and continued to write down his thoughts again.
Too much work for something that was not worth can result from a run away flame. A simple candle can be easily smothered, however it has a formidable power. Frighteningly it can incinerate everything around its spreading flame into ash. Such an evil flame ends the same way as the candle that spreads no flame as death consumes the light.
However, as long as one flame exists another flame can create another and eventually light a whole world one by one. There must be a priority to protect the last candles from burning out. Fire is a miracle in and of itself to transform something from one state into another, create warmth for life, and safety from darkness. The greater blessing is us – we humans – who try to control and use a greater power to gain more from the world in endless greed and consumption, forgetting there is a flame inside us. That flame of course can only be used by the self to dream.
“Well, no.” Bradford thought again and scribbled the beginning of a sentence to re-write it.
He thought of kindness like a flame. It could spread from heart to heart. When someone kindly accepts the help of another they receive not only warmth, in addition, also they gain protection. The transfer of human flame emboldens them and the given vital heat sparks a larger flame within the other. This granting of power would make a person stronger, smarter, and more resilient.
Bradford let his hand with the quill rest. Sometimes he would get up and walk around the house to help him focus and occasionally it did in fact return some concentration. On this night he needed it more than ever. He was drawn out of the usual sleepy stupor by his candlelight wax dripping onto his shirt sleeve. He had drifted asleep at his desk, wasting precious time.
Bradford walked to the dark window to state outside into the darkness: nothing was there except for the reflection of himself. Emptiness captured human thought for a time long before him. Nothingness or darkness however it may be spun was a vast and sublime quality that authors of old give to the unknowable and unthinkable – the incomprehensible void. That which we acknowledge, yet can not properly summarize. That is the fear that light fights off.
He looked back at his desk, forcibly halting his early morning window thoughts as he returned back to his desk and hard seat of the wooden chair. His candle was fleeting. Its life was slipping away with each drop of wax and flicker of flame.
A new emotional wave rippled in his heart during this soon to be dawn: anger! There was enough decorum wasted in ink, there needed to be emotion! A tense and strung out anger that was primitive and powerful. The taunt strings of anger, when plucked in the right way, resonated with the yearning of justice in a sadly unjust world. The events that resulted in this declaration being written would have cast aside in its volume from that of thunder roaring across the sky. Why should these words hold back because of simple convention?
There was a fine line between retribution and reformation and Bradford sought to ink that line. That is why he was chosen to write this – to declare what the people think in provoking prose. This sense of the recent loss of control must be underlined. The freedom they crave should announced like an explosion lit from a flame! This is a declaration of justice for all, not for the select few who wish to prevail in the end!
Bradford wrote and wrote, then near the end he dipped his pen in the ink once more and hoovered over the inkwell to let the excess drip back down. He wondered where this blazing epiphany had come from – why it had waited until now – why was this the tipping point?
Was it his drunken declaration aloud yesterday in the bar, that he would finish a masterpiece of written works meant to protest The Tyrant and by destiny’s light, The General of The State who opposed a direct conflict, yet fractured politically with the Tyrant happened to overhear his boasting. Of course it was! Such an opportunity blooms the soul! Bradford knew The General was looking for political fodder to use for support, but pride could not turn down the offer to write a declaration to the court of noncompliance with the recent Tyrant decrees. It was a formal piece to be judged by merit of art and penship, as well as the ultimate test of value. The people’s support was vital if The State is to survive the turmoil.
Had he not been in that bar without his wits, then it would be the same hollow words he stated a year before as a scholar begging for funds. There was destiny to ideas no different than others. It was how it was written that mattered to those who understand them and finally a driving purpose. He always lacked a focused goal to let the words shine clear.
“One candle is all it will take to finish.” Bradford thought, “What would heroes do with this inertia of flame that I feel?”
They would do the impossible – of course!
Bradford scribbled with impeccable focus over the last paper. He actually smiled as his pen painted the paper with ink effortlessly. It was not the same night that had pitifully preceded to happen over again. Patiently he laid the groundwork for years in stacks of notes, volumes of history books, and transcripts of oral stories. He had an idea of the right words to summon change to the front lines kept him dreaming. After all these years at a half hazard pace with frequent stops he never truly gave up. Not until others could bear witness to the impact.
No sooner had the pen stopped at the last word had the candle had finally burned out and all became dark in the house. It was not a depressing darkness of normal for he had finished.
He chuckled.
It was not the work he set out to write all those years ago. It was not even the best work he could think to formulate, yet it was the right one for the era for it said the right words that needed to be said. The General told him, every soldier has a place and duty in battle. Likewise every citizen has worth and talent to bring to The State. This light in his heart was bright, much like the words he created so that others could also see that meaning.
A simple candle light can change the world if only more candle flames are lit.
Off Beat Off Kilter 