When Your Candle Flickers Out

Shadows. The place where darkness takes over the light. The place where monsters lurk and hide, waiting for the right moment. Shadows. The place where broken dreams go to die and fallen stars lose their light. They seem untamed, intangible, unable to control. But they listen to their master. They listen to me. Death lurks in every corner, right around the bend. But I also wait in every shadow, waiting for darkness to overcome the light of life. When your candle burns down to its wick and flickers out, Death is called. 

A whoosh. 

I look back and see one of the candles flickering, so weak, a single breath could put it out. Only a small piece of string suspended in a pool of wax.

I spin, and find myself at the front door of an old cottage, weathered and obviously loved and lived in for many years. I step in, and feel that shadows call to me as I walk through the house. They stretch towards me, grabbing for my ankles. Shadows are fickle things. They yearn for the light they can never have, like ghosts wanting life again. I wave my hand, and they recoil, sinking back into places they came from. I reach the room, and find an old man laying on a bed, family members around him, some sobbing, some smirking as if they have waited for this moment, some, with their eyes facing downwards, their hands on the knees of their family, their jaws tight from trying to keep from breaking down. Those are the ones I like the most. They are the strongest, the ones that hold their tears until they are alone and take the weight off their families shoulders so only they have to suffer. Some of their hearts will harden, unable to love after what they have lost, but some will make it through. Their candle will glow bright, bright enough to make it through the darkness, bright enough to make it through everything.

I look back at the man, and see him smiling as he stares up at me. Most people see me when they are near death, but desite that, they are calm. Humans know they will all leave this Earth at some point, and when the time comes, they are usually prepared. You spend your whole lives avoiding death, but when their candle is almost out, they are usually happy, like they can finally get down to rest. Especially those who knew it was coming.

I hear the man’s name whispered in my ear like a breeze only I can feel.

"Benjamin." Death's voice is a murmur, the cold chill down your spine, the invisible breeze that makes you shiver even on the warmest days.

Benjamin smiles warmly, his dark skin bleached from the sickness that infects his lungs. 

"Are you ready?" I ask, and see Benjamin's family shiver slightly.

 They can't see or hear me, but Death's presence is enough to make your skin prickle. Benjamin looks at me, and through the calm, I see a slight flicker of fear in his dark brown eyes. He glances at his family. Of course. 

Humans are strange. They spend their entire lives running around, doing everything they can to make sure they don’t die, but when the time comes, the thing most people think about is not their well-being, not what will happen to them. The last thought that runs through your mind when you die is how your family will cope. People always mourn the ones who are gone, but the ones that suffer the most are the ones that are left behind. Benjamin knows this. He has lost. 

“They will be fine.” I say, Death’s voice echoing throughout the room. “They will mourn, they will cry, but they will move on.”

Benjamin's face relaxes and he nods. He takes one last look at his family, still unaware of my presence. 

Death is merciless. It takes without any remorse or thought. The kindest people are still snuffed out by the darkness. It doesn’t matter what you liked, what you did, who you hated, who hurt you. When your candle is down to it’s last light, the only thing that matters is the imprint you leave on others. The legacy you leave behind is left in the hearts of those you touched. Some leave giant footprints in the sands of time, some leave small ones that blow away with a single gust of wind. Some blaze their own trail, carving a new path for others to follow. But Death is still merciless. I still take everyone in my clutches. Death is merciless. But Death is not unkind.

I give Benjamin just enough energy to say 2 last sentences. 

He whispers something just loud enough for his family to hear over the sobbing. The last words anyone will hear from him on this Earth. 

“I will rest at last.”

He smiles, and I start to see the type of footprint he has left behind. His last words, spoken with true conviction, without any trace of a single lie, seemingly poured out of his heart.

“I love you.”

Then Benjamin R. Thomas closes his eyes for the last time as I hold up his candle, hold up my fingers, and snuff it out. His breath escapes as a sigh, and his soul is put to rest at last. 

Everyone has a candle, burning, some taller than others, some with only a few years left. Everyone will be claimed by Death, and no one can escape. Time will always move, a new footprint being made. Some will be lost overshadowed in the footprints of others, but some will use those footprints, expanding on them, making their own. There are always those who leave, and always those left behind. But the ones who stay will hold the dead in their hearts. They will carry that love and pass it on, leaving a new footprint behind, touching more hearts, who will touch more and more, their footprints growing bigger.

Whose hearts will you touch?

What footprint will you leave?

“A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees.”

Amelia Earhart