Tabula Rasa

That perpetual breeze, such relief during the heat of a summers day, was starting to destroy my night. I let out a gentle sigh and looked to my trembling hand. The pack was almost exhausted and I knew I had one final chance. Lighting the last match I held it against the wick, waiting, willing for the flame to take hold. Watching the golden spoke rise and fall, teasing and tempting my hopes, I briefly lost myself in the moment, forgetting why I was in front of that candle to begin with. Flame had always been my vice. Something of a calling but something so destructive. Chants behind me seeped back into my consciousness and I snapped into action. With the candle safely lit, I glanced down the row of fuses to my left. There were seven. Looking down once again at this delicate, vulnerable candle, on whom I placed so much expectation and hope, I willed it to hold out. For the perfect firework display, all seven had to make it into the sky. Six down, I dared to breathe as I held my flickering candle against the final wick. I looked up and I waited to be dazzled.