Flames of you

When betrayed by everyone you cared about, when enchained by the same nature that created you, when maimed by what have once been your very feelings, there is nothing else to do but count. He counted the times he went to sleep since he kept the fire burning. He counted the times he woke up since he had seen any light, other than his own flames. He counted the times he thought about how happy he could have been if he had a normal life. He counted so much that numbers no longer had any meaning, but were the only thing that kept him sane. He counted so much he forgot why he had been counting all this time, but it has become a part of who he is.

"Treat these flames like they were your soul," they had said. "Keep them burning at all costs. Keep them burning not for yourself, but to assure that people have some warmth when they need it. Keep them burning not to light your way, but to let others see you, should they come near. Don't sigh and don't cry, as wind and tears may quench the fire. Make any necessary sacrifice to keep it burning and when you don't have anything else to fuel it with—and only when it's your last resort—throw your body into the flames. Then you would have done your part and the fire would soon extinguish."

He had forgotten who had told him these words or how his life had been before all this incessant routine. He had lost every memory of who he was supposed to be and he had even forgotten when he lost them.

Who were the people he had to keep this fire for? He heard footsteps all the time. People running, people laughing, people with soft and soothing voices, but not a single one who was talking to him. No one would come anywhere near to feel the comfort of the fire he so much struggled to keep alive.

He didn't know where these people were or how he could get to them. He tried from time to time to venture a little far from the fire, but he was convinced that he was actually inside a maze. Whatever direction he went in, he was quickly forced to make a turn, then another and another and so on. If the cold didn't compel him to run back to the warmth of the fire, the fear that he might get lost surely did. So he had no way to entertain himself, but to see how many people he could keep track of before he got bored and lost interest, only to regret that he had abandoned the count and start over again.

He once used to see all sorts of things around him, of all shapes and colors, but the colors had slowly darkened and the shapes had merged into one until he could no longer distinguish anything. He could have still seen, however, some lights which seemed to be very far away.

Those lights had brought him the last bit of satisfaction, not because there had been anything special about them, but because every time he had counted them he had always obtained the same number. Until one time when that number had dropped by one. Then it decreased again. Then again and again until he could have seen how many lights there had been just by looking at them. But it hadn't stopped there and he remembered he had needed all his power to withhold his tears when the last light had faded away and he had remained alone with the fire.

He once had a favorite shape and a favorite color, but he couldn't remember either their name or how they looked. Actually he couldn't remember any color or any shape at all, only that they had existed and that some of them had made him smile.

A smile. "Whatever I do, I must never forget what it means to smile", he had once told himself. He had forgotten, but he couldn't feel anything about it, as he had also forgotten what had determined him to say such words. He only remembered that when he had smiled, he had been moving his mouth in a certain way, but no matter how many times he tried to recreate it, he couldn't understand why that movement of his lips had been so important to him.

So he kept on counting. He knew that once the times he went to sleep had been called days. And multiple days would have been called weeks, then months and then years. And years have been some very big deals for people. They were used to measure almost everything and almost everything was characterized by the number of years that they had. It may be possible that this is how his obsession with counting had started, even though now it had a completely different meaning for him.

He often tried to remember—or better said to imagine—how he could have ended up in a situation like that. He used to have vivid memories of his past life, but now his imagination was almost as bland as the darkness that surrounded him. He only had power—and he was grateful for that power—to hope that it hadn't been him the one who had chosen this fate, that there could have been nothing he could have done to avoid it, that it was anybody else's fault but his.

In a way, he accepted his fate and even became comfortable in his monotony. When the first signs of change had appeared, he disconsidered them, but the thing about change is that it can't be stopped, only controlled.

The first emotion he felt was fear. He was afraid that he would fail to keep the flame burning, even though he didn't know what it would mean to succeed. He was afraid there were always things he was losing, even though there weren't any things he had. He was afraid that his time was wasted, even though he didn't have any concept of time.

Anger soon made its way into his life. He was furious because he was reminded that he was a human being, and human beings have needs that extend far beyond counting how long he kept a fire burning.

He felt he wanted to be saved, even though he couldn't tell what to be saved from. He felt he wanted to love, even though all his dormant demons woke up and screamed at him to never love again.

Why couldn't he stay in his barren monotony for the rest of his life? Was it really better to have your own feelings against you than to feel nothing at all? The answer didn't matter, because what was about to happen felt unstoppable.

He craved to get out of this maze and see the outside lights. He craved for someone to tell him that he didn't need to count anymore. He craved to finally have a meaning for the things he was doing. And anger was no longer against him, but made him feel more powerful than ever. Desperation felt like salvation and before he knew it, he was so far into the maze, he could no longer see or feel the flames.

He walked confidently through the darkness, with no regret that he abandoned the fire. He heard people all around him, but didn't meet anyone on his way. He reached many dead ends, but with no hesitation went on a different path, until one time when the wall that blocked his way had a door. He opened it, hopeful to see anything different on the other side.

It was still just as dark and cold, and this time he stepped a little anxiously. He kept on hearing people in front of him, but no matter how much he walked, he couldn't reach them. He was still in utter darkness and the cold was piercing him more and more. He turned back and tried to reach the door where he came from, but he hit a wall he was sure hadn't been there when he came.

He overcame his confusion and turned around again, determined to go forward no matter what. And after trudging through the dark, faltering and struggling for each step, he finally saw a beam of light.

The journey towards it only became more difficult. He had to walk over uneven terrain, he climbed walls that felt like ice, he had to destroy obstacles that felt like spikes, he crawled, he fell, he bled, he rose and fell again, but he kept on going.

And the light got brighter and brighter and soon he was no longer cold. It got bright enough to see where he was heading and only from this moment things became easier for him.

He saw people everywhere around him and some even talked with him. He was a little reluctant, as he still blamed them for leaving him to suffer for so long, but he soon became grateful for every interaction and it was not long until he smiled without thinking about it. The last thing he did before going to bed was to recall everything that had brought him happiness that day and the first thing he did in the morning was to spend some minutes being mindful of who he was and grateful for what he had.

He met his first friends while hiking. They were a young, newly engaged couple, whose positive attitude and open-mindedness changed his life. It was at their wedding when he met Clara, who was the first person to smile at him for no apparent reason. That night they talked for hours about places they had traveled to and made a bucket list he hoped they would complete together.

They had their first date the following week, went on a short trip over the weekend and it was not long before they fell in love. He had imagined many times how fulfilled love would look like, but he forgot it all the moment he lived it. It would have been scary, if it hadn't been so wonderful to be passionate about things just because she is passionate about them, to smile with no reason, even when you're not thinking about her, to feel she's always with you, even when you are alone, to feel at home just by being near her, to feel you can tell her everything and to want to hear everything she has to say.

In their first vacation he told her all his life, even about the maze and the darkness and the fire. Clara seemed deeply affected and even scared about what she heard.

"Do you think it's possible I was one of these people you were hearing, but couldn't see? If so, I feel terrible. No one needs to suffer this much," said she.

"Even if you were, I don't think it was possible to get to me, or to make me find a way to meet you in the maze. And even if we would have met, we wouldn't have been happy. We would just be alone in the darkness. I would have never been able to see how wonderful you are and you would have never come to know any of the things you love about me. I regret nothing, because if my life had been any other way, I might not have had the chance to meet you when I did and fall in love."

They cuddled and kissed like they have always done, and like they wished they would do every night they would be together. He no longer did anything about the flames, but they kept on burning and brought comfort to him, to Clara and to all the people they cared about.