The Beast

I recently signed up to take an online creative writing class at a local community college. I was a bit disappointed when my first assignment was something as dull as sitting around and observing a lit candle. Sitting is not something I do well - unless I am on Facebook to play Mafia Wars. But unfortunately for me the assignment in no way involved online social media or organized crime.

I also convinced myself that having an open flame with three kids bounding around sounded like a spectacularly bad idea. You might say a bit of pyromania paranoia took over. So, I did what I always do in such situations...I broke the rules. (Yea, I'm a rebel.) So, instead of slumping in my chair while squinting at the Yankee Scent of the Month, I merely imagined a candle while cleaning the family room.

Now, most of the other students in the class, being a bit more normal than I (and having had the benefit of actually following instructions), wrote about how peaceful they felt with their candles. They used words like relaxing, flickering, fragrant and dancing lights. Then there was me.

In my mind's eye the flame was something fearsome - like a lion in a cage, trying to break free and attack me. I am hoping this does not represent a deep seated resentment for Zoos - though I admit that I get freaked out about Circuses. More likely it represents an aversion to cleaning. If you'd ever seen our family room following a two year old tornado you would understand. Regardless, that's when I decided I'd better kill it (the fire) before it killed me (be assured, I would never kill a lion).

I'm certain there must be something deeply psychologically wrong with all of this and with the fact that I ended up writing a verse instead of a story despite clear instructions to the contrary. Or maybe I was just being a Pink Bird. Or maybe I'm just trying to justify my laziness. Or maybe I just made up all of this in a desperate ploy to entice you to read my ramblings further, in which case it appears to have worked fabulously and we should all conclude that I am brilliant (patting self on back).

In any event, please indulge me while I tell you about The Beast.

The Beast

A tea candle
Set on a shallow saucer
On my desk.

A mountain
Of bills and papers
Towers over.

Its flame stretches,
Grasping violently.
Craving to lick the pulp
And nourish its anger.

Frantically jerking,
Gnashing the chain
That anchors it
To its prison.

Small drops form
And ooze down its skin.
They gather
In a puddle
Of molten wax.

I inch closer.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Foolishly.
Like a cat stalking a wasp.

A few breaths separate me
From the beating light.
I inhale a wisp of smoke.
I taste its rage.

Suddenly
The blade lunges wildly
Lashing and biting
At my nose.

Drawing back
I study the trapped beast.
It will not be tamed.

Amused,
By its struggle,
I breathe deep.

With one quick blow,
I snuff its glow.