Flames of Hope

Ashley let the flames hypnotize her, watching the scrawny river of heat and light flow up from a small pile of sticks and brush, foolishly carving out a tiny bubble of warmth amidst the powerful darkness that pressed in on them from all angles. It was horrifyingly wimpy compared to the raging fires she normally thought of when flames came to mind.

She nervously glanced over her shoulder and quickly returned her gaze to the dying fire, her heart thumping loudly in the deafening silence. The darkness was absolute, a gruesome, thick absence of light that squeezed in on her and the flame like a black iron fist. It was a jailcell without bars, a delusional, shrinking island of hope.

The darkness whispered and tightened its evil coils, blowing softly to tickle the weakening flame. Ashley's heart jumped as the fire flickered and sputtered, dancing erratically like a stumbling, fatally wounded soldier. She held her breath and froze, fixated on the plight of her sad fire while a cold sweat burrowed its way up from her bones.

Her chest was tight as she began frantically feeling around the area for anything that might burn. One of her hands found a pile of wet leaves which she pulled in close hoping to dry them out by her fading flame's warmth. She felt a stick, thin but long, and yanked it into the circle of dim light. It was a little damp on the outside but when she folded it in half it cracked and split. She tore off pieces and gently arranged them over the short weak flame hoping some part of the wood might catch fire.

She stared at the light, rapt, while it slowly dawned on her that if she didn't stray deeper into the abyss she would never find enough fuel to keep the fire alive. Slowly she turned her back on the short, bobbing flame and crawled into the void, carefully feeling ahead with her hands while a thousand dark eyes watched with vicious interest. Every few feet she looked back to make sure she could still see the faint glow of her charge. Finally she found some wood, real wood with girth and bark and the promise of a healthy fire. She had no tools, but she figured it didn't matter. If she could get the fire to catch on this beautiful log she wouldn't have to worry about it going out for at least a few hours. She dragged it back to her pitiful flame and thought about how to start the large branch burning.

Some of the sections of stick had tentatively caught fire, fragile baby flames licking at the air from the frayed tips of the thin branches. Slowly, carefully, she relocated one of the gently burning sticks, setting it cautiously on the larger log. Almost immediately a weak breeze passed by and snuffed out the attempt. Ashley moaned to herself, delicately setting the stick on the remaining unburnt kindling. Her hungry little flame was quickly consuming everything but the damp sticks. She wanted to relocate the entire bed of kindling and twigs to the top of the log, but she had nothing that could help her make such a move without scattering the fuel and starving the fire.

Except… She looked down at her clothing. The darkness was cold and bitter, but it wasn't freezing. She was wearing a jacket over a thin T-shirt with jeans. Taking a deep breath, she backed away from the struggling flame and slipped out of her jacket before quickly sliding her shirt off over her head. The blackness pricked at her skin, pulling goosebumps up from her smooth, tender flesh before she could slide her arms back into the jacket and zip it closed. The T-shirt wasn't doing much to keep her warm, but it could fuel the fire and give her a way to move it to the log.

Back at her softly glowing fire she pulled the edge of the shirt tight and tried to scoop it under the bed of fuel, but at first it only pushed and shuffled the combustibles, churning the burning bits until the flame nearly smothered itself in its own home. She held her breath and focused, her mind racing as the embers sprouted a patch of small flames again. Using one of the damp sticks she coaxed the kindling onto the shirt and gently lifted it all onto the wood, keeping a sharp eye on the operation to make sure the flames didn't go out. She watched the slightly spread-out flames dance wildly as she breathed a dangerous sigh of relief, quickly catching herself and holding her breath.

She hunched over the log nervously, the softly dancing flames glinting off her dull, desperate eyes while she watched for any signs that the flame would take hold in the wood.

A wide, malicious smile spread on Greg's face as he watched Ashley from deep in the darkness. He nodded approvingly at Sheena, but couldn't take his eyes off her victim. "And, this is it?" he asked with amusement. "No walls? No chains? Just… that tiny flame?"

She beamed with pride. "This is it," she confirmed. "Willing prisoners of the darkness. Unwilling to stray from the flame, desperate to keep it alive."

"And what happens if the fire goes out?" he asked, turning around to take in the scene behind them. There, an old man huddled naked over his trembling flame. His spine and ribcage rose up through thin, waxy skin as he plucked hairs from his long, white beard to feed the dying fire.

Sheena chuckled. "Nothing."

"Really?" Greg asked, shocked. "Nothing happens?"

"Nope. And if they would just wander a little farther into the darkness they'd find their way home."

"Fascinating," Greg breathed, shaking his head. He watched the old man a little longer before patting Sheena on the back. "Excellent work," he said. "Really, I'm impressed."

"Thank you, your dark lordship. I'm very pleased you like it."