FLAME

I

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Section one.

There was a dogtree, its peach blossoms fleeting in the spring. There was a pond, reflecting a gleaming spectacle throughout surrounding nature. There was a song—a song of cicada’s creation that chirped its way throughout the forest, weaving in and out of actuality.

Under the insincere skies of this earth, there was an area where that dogtree could not flaunt its newly-grown. Where the pond could not defer its sights through, and where the tale of the cicadas lay muffled in incomprehensibility. Inside sat a boy, intrigued by an unusual occurrence.

Atop the cold stone in front of him danced a newly-grown of his own. It was feeble and wriggled around like a worm, though immaterial. It donned an orange hue, strikingly bright and curiously translucent, waving around wildly with hardly any outside disturbance.

Minute, near-white motes of light remained through its initial appearance, floating through the air currents surrounding the boy’s face as if they existed in another plane. They lingered, as if urging the boy to recapture the event should it slip his mind. At times, they seemed to battle nothingness, throwing jabs at the air. At others, instead of jetting to and fro, they seemed to surrender; swayed by the charm of the morning breeze.

As they reflected in the boy’s brown eyes, their glimmer dimmed, the speck’s efforts in vain as they silently disappeared.

Soon, he broke free of his momentary daze, turning his gaze over to the central object once more. As its reflection in his eyes clarified along with his stare, he noticed something else.

Its shape was mildly similar to that dogtree outside, he thought. Wide at the base, and seemingly growing from the ground, but without any branches. The boy did not understand what it was. As he thought in silence, he began to notice an additional detail. The stone floor, it seemed, was brighter at a point. Strangely, this point surrounded the little thing.

At this time of day, the boy was used to sitting in darkness, as he hadn’t yet begun his routine. Curious to see how far this effect traveled, he looked around. It did not travel far. He looked back toward the little thing.

“Little buddy, could you please leave my dwelling?” he asked with a hopeful expression. Met with silence, he decided to wait.

After a few minutes of patient loitering, he asked, “Do you need my help?” Another short while passed. It had not shown any signs of answering, so it might have just been asleep. He decided to wake it up. Sitting up into a squat, the boy attempted to poke it with his finger.

As his finger neared, it grew warm along with his pale skin, taking on a stronger orange hue. He didn’t mind as it was a new experience, but soon, that warm sensation turned a tad volatile.

It seemed he wasn’t fast enough in realizing this, giving way to a sharp pain that engulfed his finger shortly afterward.

“Hey!” he immediately exclaimed as he pulled his finger back. Cradling it in his other hand, he slowly backed away. He began to suspect that the thing wasn’t coherent as he was. After a while of checking on his injury, he decided to leave in order to get something to awaken the thing, seeing as his finger was now a bit swollen.

As he rose, his dark, curled hair framed a scar that snaked around his neck, decorating his tanned skin with a grisly mark. Though evident, his hair was long enough to conceal it.

Nearing his door, he spotted streaks of light slinkering in through the gaps in the wood. His door was really just a slab of wood, held up from the inside by a big enough stone when he needed it closed.

Picking the door up, he was greeted by a bright spring morning, the sun already a portion through its daily course. He was always enamored with the sight outside of his shack.

A stone path lay in front of the entrance, lettered with flat stones that he had painstakingly searched for in the year it took to build his home. Some stones were missing, which irritated him. He didn’t want to go through the inconvenience of searching for more, so he had to endure the risk of tripping every now and then.

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On one side of this path lay a small statue of a turtle, which he found at the base of a tree when he started searching for a place to live. It crushed the grass under it for years, making a permanent home under the shade of the shack.

The grassland surrounding the shack had an extremely pleasant look and smell, the blades of grass dancing in the spring breeze just as the cute intruder had, reflecting light onto any spectators.

There was a pond to the east, serene in any weather. Sometimes, he would visit it to capture fish, but most of his visits there were for cleaning or relaxing. A cliff face to the west, not the tallest, but it provided a sense of safety to the boy. Surrounding all of this, farther to the north, east and south was a forest, whimsical in appearance. Many animals made it their home. It was also where the boy went to hunt, or one of the locations.

It still seemed like a bit of a utopia to the boy, a perfect place to settle down. Near the boundary of the forest, in front of the boy’s home, there was a dogwood tree that had always been a sort of companion to him. When it rained, it shielded him, only letting a few drops in to wash his hair clean of sweat. When it snowed, he lay under its leaves, only a few flakes stuck to his shoulders.

The reason the boy came outside was not to admire the scene, but it had become second nature to him. Something so beautiful could not be dismissed, at least in his eyes.

Finished his daily fawning, he turned around and placed the door down next to his now open entrance. He had built this cabin years ago, when he was even smaller than he was now. It was an ordeal, but this box had kept him safe from the elements for the duration of his stay. Yes, box. There were no openings or accessories save for his door, but he was proud of his creation nonetheless. He decided to venture into the forest for a little while in search of a branch.

Casting a gaze at the dogtree speckled with pink blossoms just outside the boundary of the forest, the boy quickly discarded the idea. It was like a friend to him.

After a while of walking, he was disturbed by a couple of spiny shrubs. They ripped his pants, which was surprising as they were made of animal hide, the same as his topwear. Maybe that was an indication of how worse for wear his clothes were. He loved nature, and though he needed a branch, the shrub might be able to grow some leaves in a little while as it was spring. He moved on. Soon, a branch got tangled in his hair. It was of neck length and quite frizzled at the moment, so he was sure he’d have to break the branch off in order to get it out.

“Oh, well,” the boy muttered, bringing his hands up to break it. A clear snap was heard in a small radius around him. He lowered his arm slightly, a small, snow white birch branch with black spots throughout was now in his hand although tangled within his hair, the unbloomed buds on the branch severed from their only chance at growth.

Untangling the stick from his hair as he made his way back, a newfound breeze constricting his breath for a moment. The boy's gaze fell upon a long, sizable stone, beckoning him to pick it up.

Taking his time, making sure that there were no beetles running amok on it, he was oblivious to the gusts of wind that threatened to extinguish the flickering worm in his shack.

He continued his trek. Upon reaching his usual path, he noticed a disconcerting change—the little guy had noticeably dwindled, its once vibrant glow now diminished.

Curiosity mingled with concern as a questioning furrow etched itself upon his brow, hastening his steps until he entered his place of stay.

With deliberate care, he picked up the door and placed it in its customary position, leaving a gap for the gentle illumination of light. Armed with his trusty stick and chosen rock, he approached the spot that had occupied his thoughts earlier, lowering himself into a squat to begin his experiment.

Clasping the stone with three fingers, he positioned it at the end of the stick, treating it delicately like a playing card.

With cautious anticipation, he extended his hand, mindful of the newfound substitute for his own finger. Inquisitively, he prodded the sleeping fellow’s dancing arms, but to his relief, no significant reaction followed.

The creature continued its lively dance, now albeit with a gentle flicker, as a wave of relief washed over him. He allowed his arm to relax, easing the tension that had accumulated, and continued to explore the mesmerizing phenomenon.

The creature, both adorable and enigmatic, captivated his attention, evoking a tender protectiveness within him. Intriguingly, he discovered that it remained indifferent to the stone, deforming momentarily upon contact before swiftly returning to its original state.

Retracting the stone, he recalled the distinctive heat that had emanated from it, inspecting its surface with surprise. Much to his fascination, the stone had undergone minimal change, bearing only a slightly darker tip.

Swept up in curiosity, he hesitantly touched the blackened point, instinctively retracting his finger despite the absence of any burn. The faint increase in temperature served as a subtle warning, cautioning against prolonged contact.

"Woah…" His eyes widened as he exchanged bewildered glances between the stone and the mesmerizing fire. After a brief pause, a realization dawned upon him— the stone held the potential for danger.

Swiftly, he cast it aside, inciting a resounding pop as it collided with the wall, leaving a dent in the wooden logs that formed the structure of his dwelling.

Paying no further mind to the stone, he shifted his attention to the branch he had brought with him. With a newfound confidence, albeit tinged with a trace of caution, he firmly grasped the branch and immersed it into the fire. Instantly, a subtle but noticeable transformation took place — a minuscule burst of sparks ignited from within the depths, accompanied by a newfound vigor.

He patiently observed as he felt the branch grow lighter, perplexing him further. Unfazed, he allowed the branch to linger in the fire, only to witness the creature’s growth intensify, no longer hindered by the buffeting winds.

Utterly perplexed, he eventually withdrew the branch, but to his astonishment, it was now only half its original length, the charred end still smoldering with a tiny version of the creature. Though an overpowering instinct urged him to discard the branch across the room, he steadied his hand, compelled by the realization that if the fire could consume half a branch, there was no guarantee it wouldn't ravage the wooden logs surrounding him.

He was, after all, enveloped by wood. Contemplating his options, he entertained thoughts of thumping the stick on the ground to discern its capabilities or venturing outside to discard it. Yet, a different idea took hold of his imagination.

‘Whoosh…’ with a breathy exhale, he extinguished the little creature clinging to the stick, his expression unchanging as he fixated on the smoking end.

His most elemental question remained unanswered. "Wood strengthens it, wind weakens it...but where does it come from?" He settled himself into a casual posture, his arm draped lazily over his knee. Fixating his gaze upon the fire, he remained motionless, lost in deep contemplation.

The creature flickered, almost bashfully, as if in response to his scrutiny, casting a gentle glow upon his face. His countenance held an air that belied his youthfulness, an unfeeling demeanor interwoven with insatiable curiosity.

Meanwhile, the branch nestled beside him continued to release delicate tendrils of smoke, their ashen arms brushing against his face.