The room was neat.
Books were arranged in the order of their height.
Old, new, worn out and some untouched. A bunch of papers were neatly stacked deliberately next to an ink pen. A journal with frayed edges lay majestically on top of the papers, despite its ancient look.
The bed was neatly made without a single crease and all the pillows were fluffed up and the sheets were fresh and crisp.
The windows were open and the delicate lace curtain danced a little as a very gentle breeze blew in.
Everything about the room seemed perfect, except one little detail that didn’t seem to fit in.
In the corner of the room was a rickety stool that could have very easily belonged in a recycling place.
On the stool was a candle burning in a soft yellow glow.
With the smallest breeze that entered the room, the flame swayed and the shadows of every object obeyed faithfully.
Outside the window the creamy white moon suspended in the sky gave out mellowing light that filtered through the window onto the floor. This beautiful sight was suddenly brought to a stop.
Seemingly out of nowhere, an enormous cloud engulfed the moon and the subtle moonlight was gone.
The soft edges of the shadows in the room became sharper as the candle light became brighter. It was a stub now and molten wax spread across the stool and trickled down a bit.
The smaller the stub got, the more furious the flame burned.
It was as if it were fighting a war.
One last time the fiery flame rose before a cold draft from the window extinguished it. The black wick crumbled and settled into the molten wax.
The flame was gone.
The room was dark. It was cold.
Everything remained the same yet so different..
For now there was stillness