Keeper of the Flame

I am a failure.

I am so utterly ashamed of myself. I want to hang my head. I want to cry. But I may not, I cannot, under no circumstance break posture. My job is to stand tall, smile and hold the flame.

But I lost the flame.

Even though it is shameful, so utterly shameful to stand here in the dark without a flame, I will not indulge in dramatic displays of distress. I will keep my dignity.

My only salvation is that the little prince is not in residence. I fear that he would cry if he could not see me in the dark. For he always looks at me when he first opens his eyes and then he smiles. So often he reaches his small hand out to praise me for doing my job. Oh, no. I won't let him burn himself on the flame - when I still had one.

I have been the Keeper of the Flame ever since the prince took up residence. It really is the most important job. Yes, there are minstrels and jesters for his entertainment. But how can he see them, if the flame is not burning? How can he reach out and thank them for amusing him, if I'm not doing my job?

Our little prince has many riches. He even possesses a zoo. We are all waiting for him to return. At least, I hope they are still here. I can't see the animals in the dark and they are quiet tonight. Maybe they cower because they are afraid of the dark, maybe they fear the storm that rages outside. I can hear the wind howling, feel the temperature dropping, even here, deep inside the dark palace.

Before my flame left me, I faithfully guided the Queen, her Consort and other servants through the prince's chamber. The flame ensured they were not harmed by the animals. It kept them from stumbling over the prince's many vehicles or stubbing their toes on the pedestal on which I stand. The flame also helped them find their way to him and the supplies needed to serve and entertain him.

I do envy his servants their freedom of movement. They don't have to maintain perfect, unflappable posture. Sometimes, I think that their jobs are more important than mine. But how can they dress, entertain and honor him, if they can't see him? If he can't see them? How can they find their way to his throne? How else can they bow and pay homage to, do I dare say, my little prince?

And yet, they take me for granted. No, no. I'm not complaining. They should take me for granted. If I do my job, they should be able to forget about me. And I have done so, unerringly - until tonight - since the day the prince moved in. It is enough for me; it is all the payment I need, when my liege smiles at me. Though, unless I can find the flame before he returns, I may be fired, discarded like so much rubbish.

I saw it happen with the giraffe, the one whose neck was broken. When that happened, my little prince cried almost unconsolably. Even though a doctor, or maybe it was the Queen herself, mended the hapless animal, the prince has not shown it the same affection as before.

Of course, I was a witness to the incident. I saw how the prince tossed the giraffe aside and then slapped it repeatedly against the base of my pedestal, laughing gleefully. I don't know what the long-necked animal did to offend my Sire, but it must have been a heinous crime, indeed.

And let us not forget the mishap with the vehicle, which was larger than any other in this chamber. The Consort was very delighted with the new addition to the prince's fleet. However, the queen voiced her reservations. And then ... Oh, I wanted to shout, I wanted to warn the Consort, when I watched the prince lose his balance and tumble. It took the Queen a long time to soothe his hurt pride. She ordered the Consort to take the vehicle away at once. I imagine, the Consort had to do much penance before he found himself back in the Queen's good graces.

For, I know our little master to be very forgiving, a gentle ruler. Yes, of course, his voice will rise with impatience when service is too slow to suit him. I've watched the Queen, frantic, half-dressed rush in when he demands her presence. But as soon as he sees her, his displeasure disappears. Usually.

There are precious moments when my prince reposes next to me on my pedestal. Kicking his legs in delight, he'll giggle and chortle. Sometimes this is accompanied by a strong aroma. The queen will try not to breathe, while bravely smiling at him and making cooing noises. The Consort rarely performs this task. Maybe he's too inept. Maybe he ranks higher than the Queen. Maybe I should think of him as the King.

I have notice that the prince and the Queen speak a different language. I have watched how, in the beginning, she struggled to interpret his demands. Now, she becomes so excited when she has learned one of his words. She will call for the King and tries to make the prince acknowledge that she has learned the word correctly.

But my prince enjoys his games. He never praises her for learning his language. Not on demand. Many times, after the queen has made sure that he is comfortable in his throne and the minstrels are playing their soothing music, I have heard the prince practice the words with which he will test the Queen in the coming days.

While I stand here reminiscing in the dark, I pray that I will find my flame before my shame is detected, for I would prefer to keep my job. I so enjoy watching when the Queen dresses him in colorful regalia and admires her work. I enjoy watching my prince as he smiles at her with approval.

Oh, my!

It's a miracle!

My flame has returned. I am, once again, truly the Keeper of the Flame!

I would cry if it was permissible. Cry of happiness and relief. Now, I may retain my job. Now, I will continue to stand guard over my little charge and give him soothing light, should he wake in the night. I shall continue to smile broadly as I watch him chew mercilessly on the bear who is allowed to sit next to him on his throne.

Quiet now! I hear the Queen. She brings our prince.

"And there is Teddy, waiting for you. And see. Here is Mr. Clown and his candle, your night light."