The last thing I remember before awakening was burning. I was burning. I don't remember where I was. I don't remember how or why I was burning. I don't remember if I screamed or not. I don't remember if I was sad, scared, or angry.

The only thing I remember was the feeling of the fire itself. It was hot. I remember the intense heat as every hair on my body ignited. I remember the overwhelming itch as it burned hotter and my skin slid off of me. I remember the heat reaching its pinnacle as a deep-seated pain set into my bones. I'll always remember that pain... And then I remember feeling cold.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes in that cold cave were the shadows. Lively little creatures, they danced along the ceiling to the drumming of the rain outside and chased each other around excitedly, disappearing in and around the still shadows of the stalactites like children playing in a forest. I saw feasts, singing, dancing, chatting, running, plays, and laughing. I watched them celebrate the short existence granted to them by the moons as they lived life without regrets. I laid on that cold, stone floor for hours, doing nothing but watching those little fellows' festivity. They never stopped; even as the rain came to an end and the first rays of dawn began to wink them out of existence, they never stopped living their short little lives to the fullest.

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I wanted to be like them. I wanted to join them even if my life would be shortened to a mere few hours. They seemed so happy. But I couldn't. I could only watch them, brimming with life, disappear into nothing. I think that was the first time I thought of the sun as evil. How could something which gives life snuff out others so easily? 

I continued to watch them return to dust, or rather nothing until there was only one left. Even with all the others gone, it didn't seem lonely. For the first time, they - it - acknowledged me. It turned to me and bowed as if it had just given me a performance. The performance of its life I suppose. Only after I watched it hold its bow, unafraid of death, and disintegrate into the sunlight, did I get up.