FICTION
The Candle
The thick bars stood from ceiling to floor in the cell. There was no glinting from the metal bars, for they were not made of silver, aluminum, steel, or anything reflective. The bars were a dull black metal that neither rusted nor bent, no matter the force you hit them with. The space was solely darkness—emptiness, like that of a cave, where if one didn’t know the space as one who lived there, it was merely an unknown. There were no guards stationed near the cells of the prison. There didn’t need to be, for the prisoners maintained their own prisons soon enough after they were placed there.
The door of the cell being opened sounded throughout the cavernous space. It was just the clanging of heavy metal, but in the absence of sound, it sounded more like a sudden bang. A young girl was led into one of the rooms of the prison. “I think this one is empty,” the guard said. The girl looked at him, as she walked slowly past the cell’s doorway. It wasn’t in her plans to attempt escape right now. He looked like mud, like something off. It was as if his muddy eyes, hair, skin, and every single part of him was the same color, monotone in a sense that felt unnatural. Thankfully, he and others like him were only in control of the prison and not any outside government although there were times and places where they held more power.
He pointed towards the far-left corner and said, “Toilet.” The only reason she could make him out was the single tall candle he carried, on one of those antique-like holders. It seemed to be made of a cast iron. The girl gazed towards where he pointed but couldn’t make out anything. And then he reached out, his palm facing upwards towards her, and said, “Candle. Although you won’t have it for very long.” He began to laugh, loudly—cruelly—in a way that made her feel unease.
He wiggled his fingers around the candle holder in a way that felt creepy, and she knew if she grabbed it out of his palm, she’d have to touch him. She didn’t want to touch him. The girl took a few steps backward, going deeper into the cell, and pointed, “Place it on the floor for me.” He did what she asked, although he seemed annoyed. When he shut the cell door, the door of the cell disappeared, merely becoming synonymous with all the other bars that created the cell itself. She grabbed her candle off the ground, and it was then, that he smiled big and wide.
“Bye-bye now. It won’t be long until that candle burns out and all of us hear your screams.” She watched him walk away, his figure melting into the dark emptiness. She tried not to feel the fear she knew was his intent for her. Once the girl knew he was gone, she began going towards the back of the space. Even with the candle, there weren’t many discernable features she could see. The floor was a dark smooth stone like that of a slate and the wall seemed similar. The girl also knew, however, that someone else was in this cell with her. There weren’t any noises to alert her of that, but she knew because she had dreamed it.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” she asked, quietly, although she knew her voice resonated loudly. The girl heard a small shifting sound in the corner, and if everything else weren’t so silent she would’ve missed it. She slowly walked towards the noise and saw her. The woman was curled in the corner. Her dress had clearly once been white but was now a dirty brown, with large holes and tearing at the seams and edges. The woman was older too, far older than the girl. The girl wasn’t sure how to approach, but she went towards the woman, sat down on the slate close by, and waited. Eventually, the silence would break.
As the girl waited, she watched the candle’s flame lengthen and shorten repeatedly. It was the only light in the small space, and she didn’t know how long she had stared at it when the woman finally spoke. The woman first shifted, turning her face towards the light, her face casted in horizontal shadow. She squinted at it with barely opened eyes. The woman’s eyes quickly closed from the brightness as she spoke: “The candle … can you move it? It’s hurting my eyes.” The girl moved it further away but still close by to where they were.
“The guard …” the girl began saying in her curiosity and anxiety. “He said once the candle goes out, I’ll scream?”
“The candle is your hope manifested in wax and fire. Once it is gone and nothing else is visible, prisoners scream and cry for hours, and then stay silent until they die.”
“But you’re speaking to me now.”
The woman merely turned over, her eyelids still closed, and said in an almost whisper, “My candle burned out some time ago. It might’ve been months or years.”
The girl didn’t know how to reply, and the silence extended for at least half an hour. As the girl’s eyes grew heavy, she crawled towards the back wall and fell asleep slowly. The guard had brought her in at nighttime when she was already tired. In a place like this, the girl guessed one of the only things to do was sleep on the hard ground, her forearms a makeshift pillow. The girl’s body shivered throughout the night as she felt coldness wash over her arms and legs.
The girl awoke to the sound of someone eating something delicately. There weren’t any loud sounds of munching, but the sound of a spoon against a bowl was loud enough to wake her out of the light sleep. When the girl opened her eyes, she noticed her candle close by, just as tall as it was before, and that gave her peace. She also noticed a bowl close to her, with a wooden spoon sticking out of it. It looked like porridge, a tan mass of some kind of bland grain.
The girl sat up and grabbed the bowl, cradling it in her palms, and then tasted it. It tasted like the worst porridge, oatmeal, or whatever the girl had ever eaten. It was watery and without any taste at all. The girl made faces as she ate. She didn’t want to eat it really, but she didn’t know when her next meal would come, and she was hungry.
The woman noticed the girl’s expressions of disgust and her louder eating noises and said quietly, “You get used to it.”
“And have you gotten used to it?”
“It’s not worth it to focus on things I’ll never have or see again.”
The two of them had many conversations like that if you could call them conversations. They didn’t find comfort in one another like one might think, mostly because when the girl would initiate speaking, it often led to the continuation of silence. The girl learned early on: the woman didn’t like answering many questions about herself. So, when the silence came or was maintained, or the conversation ended, the girl never took it personally or felt awkward. There was one moment though when the woman did reveal more about herself, breaking out of the pattern of the typical silences.
“How did you end up here?” The girl asked her out of curiosity. She guessed there was about a twenty percent chance the woman would answer, but in complete honesty, she was growing bored from her now-quiet existence. The only thing that stimulated her were her conversations and her thoughts. The girl could already tell she had been in the cell for several days. Although there were no windows, the routine of two small flavorless meals a day gave her some vague sense of time. The only person the girl saw was the woman. Unlike what the girl thought initially, food just appeared and reappeared as if by magic, the girl guessed derived from a kitchen somewhere. The guards didn’t come around again.
“My father had just died when they came. I should’ve known that they were coming … many of us had been rounded up and sent here. It was worse enough losing the last person in this world that loved me, but to end up here too? It surprises me some days I’m not dead already.”
“How do you know no one else loves you?” The girl recognized the woman’s pain, knew it in a familiar sense for the girl’s mother had died in childbirth and her father several years after. The girl also knew though that those who often felt unloved failed to recognize how loved they were. That they failed to recognize that even if everyone left them, God still loved them, whether they believed or not. The girl didn’t expect a response when the woman spoke.
“Look around you.” The woman slashed her hand in the air. “Has anyone come for me?”
“And if anyone would?”
The woman turned away at the girl’s question in disbelief and hopelessness, and their conversation was over.
It was a few days after the conversation when the girl noticed the woman staring at her while she prayed. Normally, the girl prayed when she knew everyone was asleep, when she could never be seen. It felt more private and sacred in that way, but on this day, it was evident the woman woke up from something. The girl ignored her staring and continued her tear-coated whispers. She spoke them so lowly with a quiver in her voice. The girl knew, though, no human would be able to make out what she was saying.
“God,
I do not know how long I’ve been here or how much longer I can keep staying. At night, it’s all cold—not once have I dreamed, not once have I slept peacefully. Am I ever going to get out of here? Am I ever going to get through to her or was it all just a mistake? Please … please fill me with the strength to keep going. Please comfort me in the darkness. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
—In Jesus’s name, I pray, Amen.”
The girl stopped whispering and turned to face the woman. She wasn’t sure if the woman knew what she was doing. The girl didn’t pray like those of old did, on their knees with their hands clasped. That felt more regimented to her, and to the girl, prayer was more about the heart than anything else. Position of the body, clothing—all those things didn’t matter in her personal belief; what truly mattered was if the prayer was honest, even if it wasn’t perfect.
The girl had a feeling that the woman would say something, so she waited. As she did, she stared at her candle. The candle had lost some of its height a day ago. Piles of wax now gathered at the base, with threads having dripped down. This was something that made her anxious, but the girl was relieved it was still lit.
“What were you doing?” the woman asked the girl, although the girl had a feeling the woman already knew.
“Praying.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Do you feel something?”
“It eases me, but it’s also connection.”
“Connection?”
“Relationship.” The girl was beginning to realize this was the longest conversation she had had so far with the woman. The woman only seemed confused by her answer, so the girl decided to elaborate. “Prayer is a relationship; without it, there’s a lack of connection helping to maintain faith.”
“Hmmm.”
“Do you pray?”
“No … I haven’t prayed for a really long time.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because … I don’t think anyone heard me.” The woman turned away for a few moments and then kept speaking. “I didn’t feel anything. I felt nothing.”
“Do you think God’s presence is limited to when we can feel it … to when we know? Getting chills one day, crying, feeling a comforting presence after?” The woman didn’t seem like she was going to respond so the girl kept going. “There’s a saying—just because we can’t see it or feel it, doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”
Sometimes the silence felt loud. It was hard not to overthink or wonder how words were received. The days passed quickly after that conversation. The candle remained at its weakened height as time wore on. It was hard for the girl to not doubt, but each night she prayed, albeit not the same prayer, and it helped her keep going. When she gave into her anxiety deeply, her hands began to shake, and her breaths beat heavily. One of the only thoughts that eased her was that God would be hearing her prayers. He was with her, even if there were no signs of Him.
The girl wasn’t sure how many days she had been in the prison thus far. She probably should’ve been counting the days on the wall, like she had read in books growing up. Even if she had thought of the idea earlier though, it wouldn’t have mattered. There were no rocks around to make any marks.
It was also hard not to feel lonely. Although the woman was there, they barely spoke. At first, the girl assumed it was because the woman didn’t want to speak about herself, but now she was beginning to think it was because she was used to the silence. If one felt silence for so long, would they even crave the noise anymore?
The girl spent most of her time in thought thinking about what she missed. She missed the people of her town, the ones who waved or left her food when she was sick. She also missed those moments at night when she would go outside, lie down in the wildflower field, and stare up at the stars. She liked to imagine what shapes she could make with them, how she could find meaning in their figures.
It was when she was deep in thought that the same guard came by. He didn’t make loud sounds or anything as he approached, but she felt something watching her, and when she looked over, he was there, behind the bars. The girl was far away enough from the woman, as was her candle, that she doubted he was aware she wasn’t alone in the cell.
“What’s the holdup?” the guard asked her while he began scrapping his sharp nails on the bars, creating a screeching sound that echoed across the entire prison. “We’ve all been waiting.” The girl had the feeling he was making the sound on purpose, maybe to scare, maybe to annoy. She wasn’t sure; either way, she didn’t really care. He was out there, and she was in here.
“Well, you’re gonna be waiting even longer.” As the girl said this, she noticed the woman moving out of the corner of her eye. She hoped he couldn’t see her.
The guard seemed annoyed at what she said, maybe even irritated. He continued his screeching. “It won’t be much longer …,” he said in a sing-song voice, “until your candle goes out. We know this. You know it too.”
The girl waved him away and didn’t reply. His bully routine didn’t scare her; she had been here long enough. He lurked around the cell for a while. The girl didn’t know how long he was there, maybe an hour or two until he finally left. Before he left, he told her: “The last person that was in that cell of yours? I made her doubt, and I’ll make you doubt too.” The girl ignored his words and noticed her candle was still at the same height when her second meal of the day came.
The woman crept closer to where the girl was, not yet eating, and looked at her, still squinting. The girl could finally make out that the woman had hazel eyes. The woman asked the girl: “So how did you end up here? You never said.”
The girl was quiet for a few minutes. She wasn’t sure if she should answer, but she also knew if she did, she didn’t want to lie either. “I gave myself up to them—came right up to the gates of the prison. They didn’t capture me from my home.”
The woman was noticeably confused. “Why … why would you do that?”
“I came for you.”
“For me?” The woman pushed backwards into her corner. “No, no … Are you delusional?”
The girl knew it wouldn’t make sense to most people, but she knew what she was led to do, what she felt called to do by God. She had been called to do other things before—small things like speaking into specific people’s lives she had dreamed of—but nothing as big as this. The girl crept towards the woman and grabbed one of her hands, she could tell the woman was scared.
“We can get out of here …,” the girl began saying softly, “if you just have a small seed worth of faith.” The woman pulled her hand away, shook her head no, turned in the other direction, and began shaking. “I saw you in my dreams. I saw your hopeless silences and your unmoving body. I was dreaming of you for months before I came. I came for you, Bethany. I couldn’t turn you away. I couldn’t after seeing your pain. God never forgot you, and he sent me to bring you back.” The girl vividly remembered all those nights she woke after seeing Bethany’s hopelessness in her sleep. She remembered first hearing Bethany’s name spoken in her mind and being told to go to her. She even remembered seeing the moment Bethany’s hope shattered when the candle went out, and she endlessly cried.
Bethany finally saw her, fully without squinting, with tears pouring out of her eyes. “Why?”
“God loves all His children. And even if they go away from Him, it doesn’t mean that love ends. The love never fades … no matter the past, present, or future, and He will make efforts to bring back those that have gone away.” The girl reached out her hand and said, “Bethany, take my hand, come with me, and let’s leave this place.”
Bethany’s eyes were glassy as she hesitantly took the girl’s hand.
“Close your eyes,” the girl said. “We aren’t meant to be here. We aren’t meant to be under perpetual silence and dark.” As the girl was speaking, her candlelight connected to the blinding light now radiating from Bethany’s and the girl’s chests. The lights merged and grew in brightness, illuminating the entire space. Grass and little white flowers grew under their feet. Bethany and the girl opened their eyes to see an expansive vineyard.
Even though the grass had grown beneath their feet, there was still a line between cell and vineyard even though the trellises were in sight. Bethany and the girl slowly stepped over the boundary, and all that remained of the cell disappeared.
The sun looked down upon the rows of green in harmony, making the green leaves glisten with energy. Bethany and the girl walked through the fields and touched the grapes that were hanging, plump with juice. The smell was fragrant, newly moistened soil and the sweet scent of grapevine flowers.
The girl noticed a sourdough loaf and one glass of wine laid out on a cloth-covered barrel. The girl ripped out two large chunks of bread and dipped them into the wine, and they both prayed together. The girl handed one of the pieces to Bethany and said, “Let us remember, that He is the vine, and we are the branches; cut off from Him we can do nothing.” After the two ate the sweet-wine soaked pieces of bread, they returned home, never to see the prison again. They met back at the vineyard every so often, each one bringing a candle.
Hannah Grace Greer is a disabled writer and poet who is fascinated by nature, philosophy, and Christian spirituality. She is originally from Pennsylvania and is currently studying creative writing at the University of Iowa. Her work has been published in Eye to the Telescope, Bridge Eight Press, The Broadkill Review, and elsewhere. You can find her @hannahggpoetry on Instagram.
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