There is much to be said about a candle. In darkness, a candle ignites as the single source of Light; a gentle glow of Hope to find a way out, or a quiet, quivering Promise that there is air to breathe, room to move, space to claim. By the whispers of an amber flame, little secrets scribble private messages in regards to hidden affairs. In the quietus of insecurity, an orange glow aluminates the visage of Warmth and Sanctuary. Steady fingers strike the match to bring to darkness some Life— a simple task in a clockwork motion for one single outcome; put asunder by various means, accomplished in curious ways, put to end by endless methods. However, you will most certainly be familiar with the following, the four most popular ways to kill a Light: The first is the frantic escape; one short gasping intake and a quick blow of air through tightened lips. The flame vanishes and smoke arises, back to darkness it is. The second is the bolder pinch; lick the forefinger and thumb and villainously press the head of the wick, choke the flame in a death as quick as hanging. Out goes the light. The third is a ruthless suffocating; one or two hands at the opening of air, cutting off the source of breath and the flame weakens, slowly, gasping for air, motionless and thirsty for oxygen, at last it wilts to nothing and its ashes blacken dirty-deed-doing hands. The forth is a cruel starvation; give so little to begin with and let the fire eat itself, drown in its own mess and starve under the stress of having nothing left to burn, dying out a slow and gothic death. Indeed, there is nothing more pleasant and soothing than a soft-glowing flickering Flame. And nothing more sad and disturbing than a light gone to ashes and smoke. J.B. Dreams