candlelight - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The candle gives far less illumination than the meanest of electrical light bulbs, yet it is all my eyes can take. By the flickering yellow the room is dark, the shapes of the furniture discernible but the colours so muted that they are almost grey. It reminds me of the hearth in days gone by, when Carl would bring in the firewood and we'd warm ourselves before the bare flames, basking in the glow and praying not to be struck by stray embers. I reach out, fingers to the baby flame to feel the warmth and half smile, half break - memories, warm and cold all at once, the ointment and the knife.
The candlelight is an arc of brilliant gold in the blackness. Though it is flame Jessie imagines walking through it as if it were nothing more than an archway to somewhere beautiful. She imagines shrinking down and stepping into the light, golden and warm, yet not hot. In that moment she is mesmerized, as still as she would be in a photograph.
By candlelight Sarah's bones are sharp, yet her skin is mellow like a peach. In the dimness her eyes turn from their soft brown to almost black, each pupil quite undetectable. She looks so different, as if she just stepped out of another era instead of the strip-light office we both spend our days in. By this sallow light she could be anyone in history, but she isn't. She's Sarah, my beloved.
The air was still and the flame barely flickered. It was steady and bright enough to relieve the darkness of the room, but it was not enough to read by. The items around the candle cast shadows that radiated out as hands on an old analogue clock would. The wick blackened and the wax slowly turned to liquid, running down the side and onto the glass plate.
The Apostle Paul writes by candle light. He pens a goodbye letter to Timothy, the pastor at Ephesus. Paul is a prisoner in Rome at the dreaded Mamertine prison. The cuff of the chains hurt his wrists as he labors to writes his Greek letters. The smell of the dirty and infested cell, and of his unwashed cell-mates makes him sick at his stomach. He catches his image in the puddle rain water. He is horrified at his loss of weight, the dark, sunken places around his brown eyes. His body is trapped in this underground hell hole, but his mind travels the world and to heaven. His mind goes back to Damascus when Jesus first appeared to him. He thanks God for the Light that shined that day. When the execution squad comes for him, his little candle dies and the cell plunges into darkness. On that same day, he sees the brightness of eternity, and knows that the candle of faith never dies.
That small flickering flame was our only source of light, it grew dimmer every moment as the wax melted down to its last... In an instant we were left in utter darkness.
The small room was rather dim and lit by small stubs of candles. Their wicks were almost burnt right down to the bottom and the wax was running out, but that was all the poor family could afford.
The candle flickers, briefly showing Sandeep. I can't see laughter in his eyes or a smile twitching at his lips. Instead he appears skeletal, deranged. His sockets lie as inky pools, the weak yellow glow only illuminating enough to make him more spooky than blackness alone could ever be. I know this is his idea of fun, and perhaps it will be. His halloween stories are legendary.