The candle

The leaves fell slowly from the tree in the yard heralding an early autumn this year. It was not so windy, but nobody was out at this moment. Even the ducks seem to have preferred to stay somewhere else in the park opposite this apartment. It was a single-room flat with barely any furniture except for a table in the middle of the room. With the window obstructed by some old blinds, the room was dark. It was so dark, had it not been for the burning candle on the table.

It was a tall candle, not yet melt, but the fire atop is so shivering as if it were not so confident of whether it was doing the right thing by lightning up the room. The candle’s light got stronger, a little though, before it went shivering again, about to lose its momentum. What a paradox! It has not yet burned out, but it seems as if it could not take it any further. There was no person ever to tell why the candle was lit in the first place.