It was a calm, clear night. The moon was full. The town was quiet. A candle burned serenely in a large bay window, giving off a steady glow she could be proud of. Her color was bright and her sides smooth as she sat in her sparkling lead crystal candlestick holder.
Now, candles are internally oriented most of the time. Not necessarily because they want to be, but because they must be. They have to concentrate on staying lit and shining brightly, which takes a lot more work and concentration than one might think. As such, the candle didn’t notice the destruction that had ripped through her home that evening.
She didn’t notice the lock hanging flimsily from the front door, the overturned armchair, or the open bottle of red wine emptying itself onto the white carpet. She didn’t notice the skipping record that should have been playing soft jazz or its broken brothers lying on the floor nearby. She didn’t notice the blood splatters, the broken bathroom door, the knife lying in a corner, or the overflowing tub. She didn’t notice the shadows under the water or the limp pale hand hanging over the side. Nor did she notice any of the loud sounds that had surely occurred earlier; the shouts or crashes.
She didn’t notice any of these things because they were not important to her. She just kept on burning brightly in her window like she was supposed to.
And because she didn’t notice, she was content.
Copyright 2013 Kayleigh Foland
Posted with kind permission of the author.
