Burn

         Lily loved candles. She loved the way they smelled, the way their light flickered at the slightest change in the air, the flame dancing as if trying to take flight. Most of all she loved the ambiance they created, peaceful yet deadly. Her best candle, a large white one that smelled of springtime, was so wonderful that she had to take it to college. But, afraid of the fire alarm (and of people searching her room), Lily only lit her candle on special occasions. Tonight was special.
         Accordingly, Lily lit her candle after making herself a cup of insam-cha, Ginseng tea. She turned off all the lights and tightly shut the curtains so that only the eager candlelight remained to guide her way. With the mood thus set, Lily picked up her pen and began to write.
         Dear All, she wrote in careful lettering. I am so sorry. This is all my fault. It's me. I don't know why I just can't figure out how
         The light shifted, as candlelight often does, obscuring the page. Lily paused, watching its flickering through the way its shadows changed, waiting for the flame to wander back her way. But something was strange about this light; it didn't move like it should have.
         Oh shit, she thought, I caught something on fire. Immediately she turned her eyes to the light, and just as quickly, she jumped up, springing away from the candle and the strange happenings inside.
         Inside the candle, where the flame once burned, stood a moth made of fire. It was so bright it hurt her eyes, but it was mesmerizing. Its colors shifted from orange to yellow to blue, rippling like heat through a flame. And it was hot. Warmth emanated from it, more like a bonfire than a candle. It was small enough to fit inside the glass container, but it was beautiful, and, incredibly, it was alive. Its twitching antenna, its curious legs, its cautiously beating wings, all betrayed its nonsensical, inexplicable, extraordinary life. Lily thought she could not have been more terrified. Until, impossibly, it began to fly.
         Flight. From a candlelight moth! It fluttered like any other insect, making large, random, effortless circles as it explored its new world. The farther it got from Lily, the more at ease she felt, making her sigh with relief as it approached the ceiling.
         The ceiling!
         "Aigo!" she cried, leaping toward the candlelight moth. "Get away from the smoke detector!" She grabbed the closest sheet of paper, rolled it up, and chased the moth around the room. It avoided her, flitting from here to there, always just out of reach of Lily's paper, but at least away from the dreaded alarm. Eventually, she ran out of breath and decided to watch the moth instead. At least with such a vivid target, she would never lose track of it. It flew up and down and all around, until, finally, it meandered so close that Lily could feel its heat, and then, WHAP! Lily sent it spiraling to the floor. But she had no time to triumph, because just as the moth hit the ground (and immediately shot up again), she realized her vital error: her paper was burning.
         She dropped the paper on the floor and jumped on it out of instinct. This made the tiny embers at the edge of the paper fade to black, but also caused a sharp stinging in her feet. Too late she realized she didn't have any shoes on; too late she realized that she had a perfectly full cup of tea she could've used instead. Thank god it was only smoldering, she thought, wincing at her lightly scorched feet. Otherwise, I'd be even more scarred for life. So preoccupied was she that she nearly forgot about the glittering moth, now sitting calmly on her desk. Gradually, it relaxed, its wings closing, its antenna drooping, its light fading to a calm red as if grateful that, for the first time in its short existence, it had a moment to rest.
         WHAM. Lily slammed the candle on top of it, trapping it underneath. Frantically, it fluttered, slamming itself against the glass. But, magical as it was, it was no match for Lily's favorite candle. Satisfied, she stepped back, content that she'd rectified the situation to the best of her ability. After all, by tomorrow, it would be someone else's problem.
         It was only then that Lily noticed that the paper she'd so desperately grabbed, the one now touched by fire, was the very same one she'd used to write her note. Dismayed, she smoothed it out, only to see that all of the words remained in place. She could go on using it. With no candlelight to write by, she opened the curtains a sliver, so that the tiniest beam of moonlight shone through directly onto her desk. At last, she again sat down to write.
         I just can't (thump) figure out how to do this, she wrote. I don't (thump) know how to be (thump) a person (thump) anymore. There's (thump) just no (thump) point to (thump) any (thump) of it (thump). I (thump) don't (thump) want (thump) to keep (thump) doing this (thump) when (thump) there's (thump) no reason (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump). (thump).
         WHACK. The moth's relentless attempts to escape, its constant and arrhythmic slams against the sides of its enclosure, stopped as Lily's pen collided with the candle. So frustrated with the tell-tale beating of its hideous wings, she would have thrown a hundred pens if it would stop the moth's aggravating escape attempts. Still, holding her breath, Lily prayed that one pen would do the trick. She closed her eyes, seeing nothing but endless darkness, hearing nothing but comforting silence.
         (thump).
         "AHHH!" she screamed as, in one reckless motion, she leapt to the candle and threw it across the room, shattering it into a million sparkling pieces, each reflecting the blaze of the moth, which spun in joyous circles through the air. Lily watched it, bewildered, and for the first time, she really took it in. Its gleaming wings shone with pulsing patterns, stripes and circles against a tiny burning body. The sound of their beat was less like a hummingbird's and more like the whoosh of a flame being lit. It flitted through the room before finding the ray of moonlight coming from the sliver of open curtains, and it followed that beam to land on the desk. Finding nothing there, it soared upwards and alighted on the window, crawling around as if peering out at the world twinkling lights outside.
         Lily felt, somehow, how much it yearned for the light, how much it needed to be free to fly wherever it wanted, joyous and unfettered and alive. And though only a minute ago she was ready to kill the moth, now she found herself compelled by its wish. After all, all it wanted was more light. Carefully, so as not to frighten the little bug, Lily drew open the curtains and threw open the window. The moth hovered before the view as if in amazement, then, using its circular, erratic patterns of movement, flew out into the world.
         Lily soon lost sight of it, for while it had dazzled in her gloomy room, out in the air it was just another glittering light. She kept thinking she saw it sparkling at her, before realizing that what she really saw was a headlight, a streetlamp, a star. Eventually she gave up and turned away, just in time to see the smoke.
         BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, cried the fire alarm. The smoke from the burning letter, alight where the moth had earlier landed, had made its way all the way up to the ceiling. Lily quickly threw her tea onto the fire, but the alarm kept on ringing, and the sprinklers went off, and Lily heard the entire building shrieking, jumping up, and running like madmen out of their doors. And even though Lily knew that the smoke would lead the firemen right to her, and they'd search her room, and find everything she'd hidden, and lock her away, and completely ruin the rest of her life, she couldn't help but feel just a little bit lighter.