Dying Fire

Chapter Two

"Be kind

For everyone you meet

Is fighting a hard battle"

~Ian Maclaren~

A man stands in the streets, a solid rock in the river of people going one place or another. Most don't bother to listen to what he's preaching, tuning him out or barely noticing him in their hurry.

            There's plenty of noise that would normally drown out a voice as hollow as this man's, but it rings throughout nonetheless, even if it is ignored. His animated gestures are batted away by passersby, nothing more than an annoyance in their daily routines.

            He used to preach quietly, picking out people he knew would believe him, keeping up with them until they saw his side of things. He has converted many to the Philosophy of Fire. Now, he takes a bold step, calling attention to himself and everything he stands for, open to mockery and judgment, but also to those who are not as obvious in their need of Fire.

            None of these people understand the certainty in which this man speaks, the confidence he shows somewhat unnerving in what they see as insanity. They don't feel the Fire that resides in everyone, in themselves. They vary greatly, from steady pulses of life, to a slight dwindling crackle, close to disappearing altogether. Some are erratic, blazing one day and nearly gone the next, their life a beat of unpredictability as they walk on the edge of destruction and resurrections.

            The invisible force that drives them to keep trying, to keep living and make the best of the life given them, their Fires, are denied, seen as a fairy tale concept. But, even so, not everyone responds to the tale the man spins the same. Just as their Fires are different and varying in brightness and darkness, so are their lives, their minds, and their characters.

            He's labeled 'mad' for his archaic notions and delusions of the Eternal Flame, of Fire and Flameless. The tale he tells of survival and strife is recognized vaguely by some as a bedtime story their parents told them when they were young, remembering how they had laughed at the thought of it all, or even wished beyond reasoning that it could somehow be true. A few decide to tell it to their children that very night, as a bedtime story to help them sleep.

            Others believe the story is a creation of his own mind that had broken long ago, ignoring it completely, not seeing the message behind his words or the truth that rings throughout. They never heard of this before, the 'Eternal Flame' or the manner of which he describes fire. They do not understand, so therefore they claim it to be idiotic and inane, something that could not be true in any context. It is simply impossible.

            Then there's the small group that surrounds him, being tossed slightly by the shifting crowd but firmly keeping their places. They listen intently, drinking in his every word, thinking over every aspect of his story. The crowd around them stands out conspicuously, but they no longer matter. All that matters is that they understand - the story, this man's reason for telling it, and why it must be true. Each has a different opinion on it, a different reason to listen, a different life they lead, but here and now they are the same through their understanding.

            There's a girl wearing a dirty tent of a dress, making her look smaller, who stares with wide eyes at the man before her, believing his every word with a purpose one could only wish to begin to understand. She relates most with the Flameless Oberon, seeing something more in his aiding Lura's escape, finding hope where there is no Fire. She feels a rush of adrenaline, imagining the bravery, the determination. She used to dream of being rescued, but, now, she yearns to save another person, to give them a better chance at life through her own suffering. But how could she do it? Who could she save? What would happen then? There are no answers, and frustration grows as she covers her face with her hands, trying to hide the tears. Hopefully, no one will pay attention, as few do to crying children in the streets. Except for those that young girls are terrified to ever draw the eye of.