G. Lipscomb

Chrysalis G. Lipscomb

Imagine that the light bulb blows, darkness immediately and indiscriminately smothers all that even the brightest light has bathed. The same can be seen as it relates to human nature. Once the light is gone there is no stopping the tidal wave of blackness. Even when a proverbial candle is introduced to the sudden night, its glow can penetrate only so far, and eventually even its flame flickers to non-existence being consumed by the pitch. Every now and then an attempt at re-igniting the candle is made, a futile attempt at bringing back the light. More often than not, the darkness is so thick that it is impossible to locate something to even light. The wick on Greg's candle was already completely burned out when he hopelessly attempted to re-ignite it. His futile efforts only succeeded in getting him lost deeper in the night, and closer to hell. The wind that blew out Greg's flame didn't hit all at once. It had been gathering momentum for a good period of time. With only a few well-timed gusts, screams could be heard within the hauntingly crimson plumes of smoke spiraling from the burned out candle that had been his soul In the end there can be only darkness.