Pining of the Mind No. 1

Darkness filled the room. Wafts of lavender and grime floated along streams of draft and silent still air. It would be long before the room knows someone again; in the meantime, grief and dank humidity became its faithful occupants. Every once in a while, a note or two from an unknown source would penetrate the stark silence, sometimes even words, lyric and tune; reminders of life that once was, but now wasn't.



There lies within the room a lamp that had once known light. The lamp had once shown a tenant the way around the remorseful little room, but now no there wasn't even a soul to light it back up. Where it once stood as a shining reminder of life there once was, now it stands forgotten, frozen in purposeless repose.

Within that little lamp, there lies a strip of charred cloth; once it had been the wick that brought lavender alcohol to bear and burn. Now, the lavender alcohol is all but gone, the lamp dried and empty. The wick that once bought life to the little lamp now stands dead, brittle and black.

At the terminus of the little wick cloth, there lie the burnt remains of what was once beautiful. Reddish yellow flames used to dance and sway from the little wick cloth, but now, only a faint glimmer of yellow stands in a sea of dark gloom, holding on, staying alight but barely so.

Hoping for its time. A time which has now come.

The little yellow spark broke off from the terminus of the little wick cloth. It wafted down slowly, ever so faint, dancing but unseen in the little empty lamp. It began to burn brightly, holding to whatever little vapours of alcohol remained. The spark ignited, exploding into a little orange flame. It was faint, tiny, but it was enough. Drafts blew, knocking the little lamp, awakening it from its stupor. The little orange flame raged inside the little lamp, yearning to break free. Inertia rolled the little lamp over the ledge where it once stood, sending it careening into the ground below. As it stood broken, the little orange flame leapt and burned, setting the once lifeless room on fire. Where there was once darkness, there now stands blinding, burning light.

Where there was once a drought, there now stands inspiration.