PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The Small One looked around, feeling complete contentment. The valley was beautiful, every flower in bloom making the valley awash with so much color. The Sun was just rising flooding the valley with her vibrant red and gold light and the world just felt right. Slowly all of the other Sparks of Light came out, warming in the sun's glow. The world was a happy place, filled with love and laughter.

As the Sun climbed into the sky the Sparks began their chatter filling the air with a sound like bright delicate bells. The Small One smiled, happy and content to be a part of such a gentle place. The valley was always happy – none of the Sparks knew of want, or hate, or fear. This was as it had always been, for as far back as any one of the Sparks knew of.

As the Small One floated in the clear morning mists a new sound reached her, harsh and sharp, and she felt, for the first time, an new sensation - fear. Two of the Sparks had headed toward the same spot in the mists, and in their eagerness had not paid attention to where they were going, and when they met it was in a hard crash. A yellow Spark was shaking off the collision, but a pink one was injured and her light was dimming. Now all of the pink Sparks were upset, blaming the yellow Sparks and demanding that they needed to make things right. The Yellow Sparks countered that both were at fault as both had been inattentive.

The scene escalated quickly, verbal attacks soon became physical attacks. At first the pink Sparks dimming the lights of 4 yellow Sparks, then the yellow Sparks dimming the lights of 11 pink Sparks. The majority of the Sparks cried for talking and reaching an accord, but their number diminished with each new attack, with each new increase in dimmed lights, and soon the ones crying for peace became the minority. Each attacked dimmed more lights than the attack that it was in response to, each attack resulted in an attack to avenge the ones hurt in the attack before it. The Small One hid from the confusion and noise, longed for the peace the valley had known.

As the attacks continued more of the valley was engulfed in the confusion. Dimming Sparks began to affect the valley itself. Flowers no longer bloomed brightly in any area where the Sparks had fought, nature no longer sang beautiful songs, and color seemed to fade into harsh greys. The Small One continued to hide, shaking in fear and not daring to come out. Her valley that had once been her paradise was now a place that brought her fear, and she longed for what had been.

As time passed it seemed none of the Sparks even remembered the before times, and they drifted into memory as myths and fantasies. Now the fighting seemed all that any, beyond a few who were viewed as dreamers and out of touch with the truth, remembered. And being a dreamer offered no safety from the fighting. As more of the dreamers were dimmed by those fighting, those left by them ceased to dream. As the fighting continued each attack dimmed even more Sparks, and the attack to respond was ever larger. The number of Sparks, both pink and yellow, dwindled more with each attack, and the valley became even greyer. The soft mists that had once glowed with the light was replaced by dark smoke that seemed to choke out the light. And still the Sparks fought, each attack responded to by an even larger attack, and more of the valley in ruins.

Finally one morning there was silence. Not the peaceful silence the precedes the day when the sun wakens the day beings or the soft silence that precedes the night when the moon calls out to those of the night, just silence. The Small One waited for the sounds of conflict to begin, but there was only silence. After a long while she found the courage to slip from her hiding place, to see why it was finally silent. As her eyes took in the scene she began to cry. There was no color left in the valley and everything lay in ruins. There were no other Sparks anywhere to be seen. The valley had been destroyed and The Small One was totally alone.

Slowly, The Small One began to pick her way through the devastation, touching a memory here or brushing a hope there. She railed, against no one in particular, “Memories are a cold companion and there is no hope and I am alone”.

She continued to sob. Dawn was approaching, that brief moment when both the sun and the moon spoke. Only when she had cried herself out, with no more tears or voice, was it quiet enough for her to hear them, the sun and moon speaking in silvery and golden tones. She implored them, “I am the last, there are no other Sparks. What am I to do?” expecting no answer. She remembered in the before times some had said they spoke with the sun and moon, but those were only myths, fantasies for dreamers.

She was shocked to hear them reply, “You will go on and help to set the valley right again. The valley will again be a place of color and soft mists and peace. You will help the others to see and learn from the story of the Sparks, that this will hopefully not happen again.” As she pondered their words they continued, “You are the last of the Sparks. It is your choice, you can allow the Sparks to fade into a far distant and then forgotten memory or to become a light to help any that follow you.”

(c) Candace 4/26/2024