Spirit in Flight
by Michaele Jordan
The spirit drifted up from the cold and the dark, utterly without thought or identity, eventually turning—not so much seeking as being drawn—toward the warmth. There was a tiny glow, and the spirit—just barely conscious enough to suffer fear and weariness—settled gratefully before the flicker of light. Yes. The spirit recognized that the flicker was light.
And it was warm. Was the warmth fire? Or affection? The spirit sensed a distinction, but it didn’t matter, because this light was both. This light was real—whatever that meant. More real even than the spirit. It was … a candle, and in that someplace else where things were real, candles had to be lit. The spirit almost sensed the presence of someone who had lit this candle, maybe even lit it especially for her. How wonderful. It must have been someone who cared.
Then the candle flickered and went out.