Personification: Wick

Cole Grist, Reporter

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I stood on the desk in a glass container — trapped for an eternity, burning until I can bear it no more and give out. Before the wick of my soul goes and the gleaming blaze leaves me, I want to give up the only thing I have remaining in me: the scent that brings joy. It is a scent that can bring sad memories; a scent that makes you want to burn, to consume you and your home.

You all want me to remain forever, but I can not. It is impossible to allow myself to remain for an eternity, unless I am never used. You can keep me for as long as you live and pass me down over generations, but once you use me, I am irreplaceable. My burning, bright, and bold aura, while it can be extinguished, is infinite. You cannot destroy me as there are so many more than just one of me.

I am infinite. You are not. You will die out. I will live on.

You come back to me. I have begun a new life, better than the last. I have not been used but have become something else. I am new. Everything about me is new. You return me to your desk with a THUD of my glass cage. It is familiar place to me and all the others like me that you have put here. You bring a lighter to my face as a metallic scratch sounds when you strike true. The spark lights the kerosene, and I light a flame.

After hours of the torture you just put me through, I finally begin to wither and fade away as I did before. The cycle continues.

You return to the place you purchased me. My eternal flame burns, extinguishes, burns, extinguishes, burns, extinguishes. The cycle continues through the years of your life until you die. Then the smaller ones take me. The cycle repeats infinitely. You cannot end me as I am infinite. I am like Surtur, an infinite being that cannot be destroyed, something that must be united with a flame.

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