Soulshine
Day Twenty One of Thirty Days of Writing

A white-gloved hand reaches out of the blackness and curls your fingers in a fist around something small. You inhale deeply. The coldness tickles your nose and you feel your hand shiver.
A match revs from somewhere behind you. There is light. The white glove hovers in the halo of the match. You realize you are holding a candle. The white glove retreats once the candle is lit. Your squeeze it tight and the wax invades the undersides of your fingernails.
Still, you sense you are not alone. The budding candlelight blooms in the darkness of the room. Your eyes adjust as each layer of muted gold petals unfolds farther and farther.
You take a step. Your shoes make a clicking noise. They are too big — your feet slide inside of them. A small shadow droops against a wall. Its arms hug its knees. Another white candle dangles from some fingertips. You click-clack closer and bend down.
You realize you’re the same height as the small boy you have found wilting against the wall. The creases of his corduroys swim in the flicker of your candlelight. You slide down the wall next to him and tuck your legs, one at a time, under the white lace trim of your dress.
“Hi.” You lift his hand to light his candle off the tip of your own.
He looks up, and into your eyes. His eyes are like juniper orbs and fear swims in their depths. The boy remains silent. He presses his lips together tightly.
“I’m scared too.” You whisper this into his ear. He nods.
You close your eyes. You see scarlet. You hear bawling and screaming, followed by a deafening pop that slices the air. Smoke wavers under your nose. It smells like aluminum. You can’t breathe. Your eyes snap open. Your candlelight quivers.
Neither of you should be here alone, but neither of you know who should be here with you. You take his little hand in your little hand. Two shining candlesticks bestow crowns of light upon the two of you. Together, you rise. You are brighter together.
“Don’t close your eyes again.” He whispers to you, and slides closer so your shoulders touch.
You cup the boy’s hand tighter, and slip your thumb over the top of his. He squeezes your hand. You both point your candles outwards. You tiptoe forward, click clack, into the black. You wonder what he sees when he closes his eyes.
You both wave your candles through the air, two little soldiers fighting and foraging their way through the darkness. You don’t feel like strangers anymore. The farther you move together, the lighter you feel.
Then you see it — a door. The moon peeks through the thin gray bars that run from floor to ceiling. You both move carefully towards the gray light that beacons you forward.
There are two tall shadows arguing outside. You both scream for help, but they can’t hear you.
