Silence. Nothing. The gaping darkness of the night swallows the buildings and lulls the weary to a soundless sleep, the low hum of city traffic a soft lullaby drifting on the wind. The light show on the long streets stretching below the towering buildings is forgotten by most at this hour, the small children tucked in bed and dreaming sweet dreams, and those left awake dismissing the bouncing, colorful lights of the city.
Silence. Nothing. The building is sleeping; nothing stirs within. Suddenly: a Spark of life. Light exists in the darkness but for a mere moment. But then it flashes again. Another Spark, and another. An exposed electrical wire plays and dances in the Sparks it produces, bright and magnificent in the dark night, though no one is around to behold its dangerous beauty.
Another Spark flies, but this one is even more dangerous than those that came before it. This one seeks life. This determination to live propels the Spark further, flying, dying the further it flies; until it lands, grasps the flammable rug it has found, takes hold, and flares. It is no longer a Spark, but a Flame. The Flame reaches high, triumphant; it is alive, a brilliant, dancing light. The Flame finds hunger deep in its belly and eats, devours, consumes, the rug that granted the Flame its wish now a pile of ashes, forgotten and discarded as the Flame moves to eat more, more.
The Flame is no longer a single Flame, but a Fire, large and hot and hungry. The Fire gorges and feasts, spreading further, adding its own crackling sound to the faint sounds of the night. The Fire joyfully feeds, crackling in a sing-song voice, "Life! Life! I have found life, and I live!"
For the life of a Spark is short, a single flash of brilliance. Gone. Entirely disappeared in the time it takes you to blink, as though it never existed. And perhaps it didn't. Perhaps it was just your imagination, your hope for salvation in the dark, frightful, unforgiving night. Such is a Spark's legacy.
But this Spark - now a magnificent, blazing Fire - sought more than that. It sought joy and light and glory. It found it. It grows with each new mouthful and delights in its success. The Fire's laughter is echoed by the pulsing light illuminating the room.
The Fire spills over the doorway, searching for more to consume, when its laughter stops. It is filled with a sudden dread as it feels a part of it dying, retreating from the place it began, having nothing left to eat. As the Fire searches deep inside itself, it realizes that the hunger has not subsided a single bit. It was fun to burn and destroy and devour, but having already reduced one room to cinders, how long would it take to exhaust the rest of the building's energy? Once there is nothing left to feast upon, the Fire will die.
The Fire continues incinerating its surroundings, though now far less jubilant. The fate of a Fire is not so different from that of a Spark, the Fire realizes. A flash of blazing life, and then I die. After all I had hoped for, longed for, reached for, there is no salvation for me after all. My fate is to hunger and feast until I can do so no longer, and then die as a pitiful, weak Flame buried in the ashes I myself created.
As the Fire despairs, its mood changes once again, and determination brightens its glow. If it is fated to live for only a short while, it's most certainly going to make it a brilliant, bright, and cheerful short while. It licks the ceiling, craving to satisfy its hunger, but knowing that it will never happen.
The Fire continues singing, crackling, dancing, and feasting until a shrill sound suddenly puts the festivities on hold. The Fire stops, brings its feasting down to a slow munching as it holds its breath and listens. The choking sob rises above the sounds of the crackling Fire again and ends in a painful bout of coughing.
The Fire cocks its head, curious. Those are sounds of life, the Fire thinks to itself. The Fire had never before thought about other living things, and quickly snakes along itself, searching for the source. The prospect of meeting another life is... enticing.
The Fire halts upon entering a small bedroom and takes notice of its surroundings. It tastes the once-pink curtains mostly eaten and barely hanging from the windows, and relishes in the delight of devouring such soft bed covers. It eyes the well-worn, obviously much loved teddy bear and plans on advancing on it next before noticing the small, shaking, soot-covered hooves clutching it tightly and the little legs hugging it close.
"Mommy! Daddy! Please, Mommy! Help me, please!" The high-pitched voice of the little filly cracks and breaks, and her small frame is again racked with painful coughs. The Fire studies the filly, terror evident in her eyes, and surprises itself as feelings of pity bubble up.
The Fire understands her fear, relates to the tears that streak her face. She is young, like the Fire, fated to die so soon after her life began. Now she is face-to-face with it, so close and so unwilling to die. The somber reality that the Fire cannot escape presses down on it, and it realizes that it doesn’t want the little filly to share its fate. The filly can escape, can live and flourish and shine for so long, much longer than the short flash of a Spark. The filly is not trapped, except by the Fire itself, a variable the Fire has complete control over.
With this in mind, the Fire decides that snuffing out a life so like its own would be so pointless, so selfish, and so cruel to both the little filly and itself. And so, the Fire calls out to her in a soft voice, "Little filly, you do not want to die, do you? Come, stop your tears, this way."
The Fire retreats to create a path, covered in ashes and blackness. The filly looks up, confused, but soon starts to crawl weakly toward freedom and life. "Hurry, quickly, you must not waste time," the Fire whispers gently. "You must reach the cold night quickly, quickly."
The filly coughs and sputters, her parched throat too weak and dry to call out anymore. She places one hoof in front of the other, exhausted, but determined to survive. The Fire withdraws from her, knowing and regretting that its mere presence is what's killing her.
A sudden shudder passes through the Fire as cool spouts of water find the Fire and evaporate immediately, but not before taking a bit of the Fire with it. The Fire is dying. So close to the end, it knows, but only one thing stays at the front of its mind: I must get this filly to safety. She must live, even if I cannot.
A stallion enters the Fire, and at first it curses the stallion's foolishness at jumping into danger, but soon realizes that its tongues of heat do not taste his flesh. He is the same as those other stallions who bombard it with water. But the Fire is not angry at this stallion. He comes for the filly.
Grateful, the Fire calls to him. "Come, this way. She is weak and collapsing. You are needed. This way," it tells him. The stallion hesitates a second, but follows the path the Fire has provided, leading straight to the filly as the building collapses around them. The stallion reaches her, a small heap on the black floor, crumpled, dirty, and barely breathing. He reaches down and lifts her gently but hurriedly. With the filly safely secured on his back, he rushes back out to the night air.
The Fire breathes a sigh of relief as is watches the filly being placed in the loving embrace of her parents, their worried faces twisting into expressions of joy at the sight of her alive. The water spouts continue to attack the Fire and it is running out of things to eat, but at least now, the Fire knows, it will not die with regret.
As the last Flame flickers in a final farewell to life, it watches as the filly opens her eyes and smiles up at the happy faces of her parents, her smile the Flame's legacy, its legacy forever sustaining its life.
