Like a Candle

The whistle of a gentle breeze drifted in the air, shattering the intense silence of the moment. His son's corpse lay stiff and still in a puddle of crimson life. The men with the deadly guns had already left hours ago, but the father was taking no chances. Slowly and cautiously he crept out, but lightning quick were his reoccurring thoughts.

Daily, he reminded his son not to venture anywhere near the city. Daily, he told him to stay with his friends. But he was a teenager, at the stage of confusion and independence, the dramatic switch between child and adult. If only he had taught him more about the ways of the world. If only he had spent more time with him. Naturally, his son had disobeyed his rules and ventured too near the city, getting thrills out of the danger. His son would still be breathing the morning crisp air of this beautiful day if he had listened to him.

He approached his cadaver. It felt ice-cold to the touch. The worms and flies had already started gathering around the lifeless body, but little damage was done. Tears streamed down his face, glistening in the sunlight, as he recalled the memories of his son. His voice, his laughs, his smell, his love. Never again would he embrace his one meaning in life. Never again would he be truly happy. Only his son's spirit, which burned of fiery love within him, kept him going.

Taking one last glimpse of his son's eyes, he slowly and reluctantly backed away. And the deer darted off into the woods.

© by Raymond Tong, 20 March 1996