ADVERTISING
| |
ADVERTISING |
CONTENTS Fiction Juvenile
1st Place
2nd Place
Honorable Mention Adult
1st Place
2nd Place
Honorable Mention Nonfiction 12 and Under
1st Place
2nd Place
Honorable Mention Juvenile
1st Place
2nd Place
Honorable Mention Adult
1st Place
2nd Place LODINEWS LINKS
» Home Page |
The crimson candle holds answers, not questions Karen J. Travnicek April sat sipping her warm Chardonay as she gazed at the burning candle. As red and orange hues painted the December sky, April realized she had forgotten to eat all day. She retied her robe’s belt and found her way to the kitchen. Mayonnaise, fuzzy cheese, and a soft apple, awaited her. Her only resolve was to make herself presentable enough to pass the standards of a fast food window. Extinguishing the three wicks, she slipped on a heavy sweatshirt, an old cap and a pair of slippers. Nightfall’s arrival would make her less conspicuous. In her mind she scanned the menu, deciding on the double cheeseburger, hold the mayo, as a dieter’s compromise. Signs of the holiday season ambushed her around every corner. Back home in the safety and security of her sanctuary she devoured her meal. She re-lit the candle’s wicks and poured another glass of Chardonay. She gazed at the three flames as if they held answers to her unasked questions. With a finger she began to trace his name on the dusty table. Then with a swift wipe of her sleeve he was gone, much like his actual departure. She knew she could contact him, but upholding his guidelines made the price too high. Instead, she refilled her glass. Being drawn back to the candle, she stared at the three flames, how they flickered in unison, like a symphony, playing an overpowering visual musical performance. She again retraced his name, finished the last of the bottle, then drifted off into a restless sleep. Toward morning she awoke, cold and stiff. The candle still burned brightly. Even while she slept, it continued faithfully. She snuffed it out and shuffled down the hall to bed. In a couple of hours it would be time to start another work week. She awoke to find herself clutching the toilet bowl as if it were a life preserver and all that could save her from the room that was violently spinning around her. In a cold sweat she lay on the bathroom floor too weak to walk the short distance back to her bed. There wasn’t enough eye gel to conceal the weekend’s indulgences, yet April still attempted to minimize the evidence. After her second cup of coffee, she felt that resolve to “get through the day.” As she pulled into the hospital staff parking area, April heard the sounds of an incoming ambulance. Since she was not scheduled to check in for another 10 minutes, she took her time making her way up the back entrance. The drunk driver that had created a chain of tragedies lay guarded by policy. He would be transported to another facility as soon a could travel. The stricken family that was leaving to go to Mexico to celebrate Posada, would not arrive this Christmas. Realizing that only a few hours earlier, that could have been April there, she stood momentarily paralyzed. A scream of terror startled her out of her trance. Taking a few deep breaths she collected herself and rallied the courage to get to work. The young victim’s face expressed panic. She cried out in Spanish but there was no one to console her. Soon she was sedated. April held Maria’s hand as she drifted to sleep. She would be OK. Luckily she suffered only a few minor abrasions. Ten hours later, April again walked down the ramp toward her car. This day seemed different than the others. She felt somehow equally responsible for the pain and anguish of these victims. That could have been her in custody, the driver who had irrevocably destroyed lives, in an attempt to numb personal pain. Upon entering her apartment she immediately lit her candle’s wicks. Mysteriously she recalled the many baptisms she had witnessed as a child. She could hear the pastor’s proclamation, “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” An unexpected calm replaced her familiar anxiety driven mind. A slight smile made its debut on an unfamiliar face. Taking a deep breath, she dialed his phone number. “If you’re still willing to kill the fatted calf, I’m ready to come home.” They talked long into the night. The next day the process began. “My name is April, and I’m an alcoholic.” Maria and her family recovered and made their pilgrimage to Mexico the following December. April is now looking forward to the upcoming Christmas season. The past year has brought the beginning of recovery, a year of sobriety and reconciliation with her husband and to God. The candle’s three flames now burn brighter th Lodinews Home | News | Sports
| Business
Features |
Opinion | Obituaries |
Classifieds | Archives |
PLEASE VISIT OUR ADVERTISERS
» 2-Illuminate |
