She was born. Nothing overly special. A mom, a dad. Some people in her life to give her love and care. She grew, as all children do. A light formed within her. It was not there in everyone. But it was in her. It was exceptional gentleness, and a level of it that while she may be common, the light was extraordinary. It was diamonds in her heart. She grew more, as all children do. The light grew brighter. It lit a beacon, one that all could see. Some admired it with awe. Others calculated it as a target. The “others” were monsters, evil ones, beasts. The monsters were cunning and knew to wear a human face. They approached her. Closer, closer, carefully. They knew exactly what they were doing, but she, with her light, her gentleness, she let them come near. She trusted, because she knew no better. Monsters weren’t real, right?
The monster brutalized her. He twisted her and manipulated her. He did unspeakable things. Evil people do evil things. She was broken and irreparable. Her beacon was so small, so precarious, if not burned out entirely. The monster wanted that fire, to fill the void all monsters have. They are subhuman, they are incomplete. They will never be whole, but stealing the beacon of others filled them for a while.
She sees her beacon, once so bright, and now not what it once was. She is clinging to the edge of the cliff. Lost in the woods. She bites, screams, claws, turns into something just needing to survive. Get to tomorrow. Get to the next day. Sometimes the fight bursts out, external and outward. Sometimes the fight rages in, internal and churning. She’s something needing to survive. She does anything, everything, amazing things, terrible things. She needs to survive.
Time passes, like everything else. The monster exits her life. Maybe she chased him off, maybe he fled under cover of night. It doesn’t matter. The monster is gone. Now all that’s left is her. She survived. She’s a survivor. She is dazed and changed. She takes one step forward. Then another, and another. She has to keep going. She is a wounded animal, with survival instincts in overdrive. She drags herself, because she refuses to stay here. She has to keep going. She chooses to keep going.
More time passes. She will never be what she was, but she is made new. Her beacon resurfaces from depths so deep within her, she thought it was gone forever. The beacon is not what it was either. It is a blue flame now, hotter than hot, burning. When people think about fire, they think swirls of red and orange, yellow. Her fire transcends this, it is 3000 degrees. Every degree, a moment in her past. It made her who she is. Exceptional gentleness, a burning need to live, a strength that alights all it touches.
Her beacon becomes a lighthouse for others. They have exceptional gentleness, too. They face their monsters, biting, screaming, clawing. Amidst their fight, they see her, the survivor, the blue flame. They look inside themselves. They thought their beacon was gone forever. A blue flame is lit.
