It's Never Too Dark

The fire dances before her, enriching the air with warmth and light. She sits snuggled in her plush Calvin Klein robe, feet covered in wool socks and tucked on the brown fabric sofa. She holds in her hands a fiction chapter book, one she has read well over 10 times and knows every dialogue of, yet still excites her as much as it did the first time. Her eyes flow through line after line, her mind seamlessly drowning out the sound of the rain pattering heavily outside as visions of a fantasy world swirl around her. Her nose betrays her mind and catches a whiff of steaming hot chocolate. Ah yes. How could she have forgotten the pre-packaged hot chocolate she had prepared moments before sitting? Her hand blindly reaches for the mug on the table next to her. She takes a large swig and smiles as the rich liquid washes down her throat and fills her with warmth and contentment. There was nothing better than this feeling, nothing better than this moment she was living. She extends her hand to place the mug back on the table. Her grip releases a moment too early.

The mug shatters around her feet and stains the floor a rich brown. She stares down at the mess for a moment. She gives no sigh. No exasperation. Because, it’s no matter! She can clean this up in less than a minute and be back in time for the hero to embark into the wilderness on his journey of self-discovery. Putting the book face down beside her, she uncurls her feet and stretches out her hands and legs. She places her feet down on the floor. Oops. Looks like her mug projected the chocolate much further than she anticipated. Her once snug socks are now soaked and icky. Not a good feeling…but socks are easy to take off. She grabs the topmost dry part of her left sock and peels, then does the same with the right. She gives a little shudder. Yep. That was not the most fun--but the robe was still warm, and besides, with the mesmerizing fire in front of her there was no need for unnecessary extra heat.

After carefully avoiding the broken ceramic and hot chocolate, she ventures into the dark kitchen to gather supplies. She returns with a glass of water, two towels, and a plastic bag. She strategically maneuvers around the mess, picking up the remains of her beloved mug to stuff them in the bag. Next, she takes one towel and wipes the floor, being sure to give a little extra love to the area under her spot on the couch. Her mind lingers on the book lying a few inches above her. Had she not dropped the mug she would probably have gotten to the part where he meets Emma by now. But it's alright, the longer she takes, the longer the book would last! She takes her second towel and dips it in the water. She takes a long sweep like a windshield wiper and crawls around the floor, covering every inch of it with water. She scoots backwards from her couch and marvels at how quickly she finished this. She could finally re-enter his world once again! She could already see his hair billowing backwards in the wind. But--why does it smell like burning?

Oh no. Her robe. Her robe was on fire! She was sitting too close to the fireplace and it caught on fire! Panic engulfs her as she rips off the robe and lunges into the kitchen. She grabs the biggest pot she can find and fills it with water. Why won’t it fill quicker? She can already begin to smell the smoke from here. Not good. Not good! She hastily closes the tap and runs back inside. The robe just lies there, dying an agonizing, slow death. In one fluid motion, she swings the pot behind her mid run, releases--and falls. The pot flies above her. The water pours down onto her. She hits the floor with a thud, completely soaked to the bone. Shock washes over her. What just happened? Her mind fogs and blurs the prodding pain in her back as she tries to understand why instead of successfully putting out the fire she sat feet away from it drenched in the water that was supposed to have put it out. Realization creeps in. In her haste, she had forgotten her previous wiping of the cocoa as she ran wildly putting out the fire.

Her eyes glint as she stares at the fire consuming her robe. She was sore, but she could not let anything else be caught by the growing flame. Taking a deep breath, she reaches for the robe, now more than halfway covered in fire, and launches it into the fireplace. She lifts herself to her feet, once again grabbing the pot that betrayed her hands, and wobbles back into the kitchen. Upon returning, she is mindful to avoid slipping another time and mercilessly throws the water into the fire. It’s out within a second, bringing darkness in its wake. 

The pot drops with a clang next to her. Her hair drips onto the floor. Her eyes are wide. Her mind is racing. One thought flies after the next. And then she remembers--her book. Amidst all the chaos it just lay there, unharmed, unprovoked by the events that occurred in the room not seconds before, the world within it unaffected. She stumbles towards it, crawling on her knees, feeling around for the couch. Her hands find the cool fabric and reach for the book perched on top. Stories never fail--she can still escape into the hero’s world. She doesn’t bother climbing onto the couch. She sits on the wet floor, the book shaking in her trembling hands.

The darkness of the night surrounds her completely and the chill of the water on her body sends shivers down her spine. But she continues to flip through the pages. Who cares if she can’t see anything? After all, she knows what's written anyway.