A/N: For the Victims in Orlando, FL.
Dancing Flame
By
AJRedRobin
A flame dances, are you aware of that? It moves with the breeze that lightly touches it or to its own inner life as it lives. Once again lives have been snuffed out, like the flame of a candle when a breath brushes it sudden and roughly. Why are lives lost in mass? Who gives a person the right to take lives in such a callous manner? It isn't war, it is simple unadulterated murder. Maybe it is hate that drives the person. Maybe it is fear. There is no way of knowing for certain. All we are aware of is the loss. Then we are left with questions unanswered.
Can we not see the beauty in everything and every person? A flame dances, held by the candle that supports it. Just like the people swaying to the sound of music on a dance floor in a night club filled with sparking light. Even so, can we not see the beauty within each flame that lights this world? A flame left to its own life eventually dies peacefully of its own accord. Shouldn't people be allowed to live in the same way, living until it is time for them to leave of their own accord? Why must we continue to snuff out lives like they are candles?
In truth, a candle can be relit to watch its dancing flame, again. A person, however, cannot come back in the form that we once knew them. They are gone forever from the dance.
"My word, Master Timothy," Alfred stated. "You never cease to amaze me. I did not know you wrote prose."
"I started to write a book with regards to those who are lost," Tim replied.
'When did you start this?"
"The first time Dick and I lit candles. I figured there needed to be something more than just that."
"Do you write the names of the ones that were lost?" Alfred asked.
"If I can find out who they were," Tim replied. "Candles are nice, and each one represents that person who was lost, but words are forever."
"You are so right, Master Timothy. Let us remember, and never forget."
End