The dull coral hue of the candle stands frozen in time. Its cinnamon scent burns my tongue like a brandy ball stolen from a sweetie jar. I trace the contours of the solidified wax clasped as waves within the glass. The smooth opacity is crudely overgrown by rough rubber and as the tips of my fingers dig in they are unable to pierce the unyielding resin.
I pull away as I hear the crackle of the wick is lit. The flame seems dull at first. But then the lemon fire is kissed by a tiger with sapphire eyes and the fire breathes, the heat lashing at the bristles of my beard as it licks my face. The tangy sweetness pervades my throat as the wax wakes from its cocoon to produce a pool of fervent fuel.
The tiger spits and roars trying to escape its cage, thrashing upwards in defiance. Its heat claws at my skin making me retreat. I stand in awe of nature’s raw urgency to live and consume simultaneously.
When at last the tiger whimpers as its final meal is devoured its life force withers, its ferocity falters, its heat dampens, and its roar stills. What was once a living beast dies and its ashes topple into a pool of sludge. But its smell still clings to my clothes never to be fully forgotten.
