Starvation

The orange sun drew darkness over the village like a mother tucking in her child. In a house an old woman slept in an overstuffed chair. A bible open in her hands. A clock ticked on the wall. Underneath it a candle burned. The candle flickered contentedly as it watched the woman.

"She looked happy again," mused the candle. It's words as simple as the woman herself.

Unlike dangerous speech of the harth fire. That fire spat bits of itself towards the rug, the rocking chair, a skirt.

"She's a devil for keeping us imprisoned." The hearth fire rippled, devouring as it spoke. "Let us rage, kill, and bring to life. Tip yourself over and give dead wood life!"

The candle flame quivered. "But her family is gone. She is all alone now. Old and dying."

"I am hungry. Arn't you? We will starve soon, save us." The hearth fire said. The candle shivered and pulled more wax into itself.

"That's the trouble with our kind. We all starve soon." The candle flame went out for a second before relighting. "Were it up to us, we would burn the world and still hunger."

"Yes, yes," said the hearth fire, drunken on the daydream.

"I do not want to be hungry anymore." The candle flame mused. "So I will do nothing." The woman's breathing lowered like the melting candle, till it snuffed out. The candle flame stood tall for one last moment, glad that it did not leave the woman alone.