Flame

The colors weren't bright enough.

I stood in the middle of the chemistry classroom, before a table. The Number-Two pencil in my hand was in danger of snapping as my grip shook with rage.

My glare pointed at the Bunsen burner on the table, whose flame was sputtering with a sickly, poison-green shade. Holding an old metal spoon into the flame, my hand shook as my temper began to rise. Despite the large mound of metal salts placed within the flame, the green tongue continued to wave around weakly.

Just as I sighed again, the bell that released us from classes rang. My classmates all rushed to put out their flames, clean up their equipment, and move on to their after school activities, practically leaving only the teacher and I in the room.

The teacher glanced at the flame. "Sorry, but could you come after school and complete this? I'd like you to finish it soon."

I shrugged. "Sure." It wasn't like I had a choice.

After putting away my equipment, I noticed the time.

"I'm late for swimming!" And I dashed out of the room.

…

As the school's swim team finished their practice and the weary swimmers climbed out of the pool, complaining to each other about how tired they were, one soul remained. His teammates disappeared into the locker rooms to change. Yet he stayed to pick up the equipment around the pool - the fins, kick boards, and paddles that everyone used - and made sure to leave after all the equipment was stored and that nothing was left behind. By the time he had finished changing, all of his teammates had already left for home.

"Time for the flame test," he muttered, pushing open the door that exited from the school's athletics building.

Outside, darkness had settled and brought on a chill, the embrace of oncoming winter. He quickly dashed across the concrete ground to reach the school's main building, where the science classrooms resided.

…

The chemistry room was dark, as expected. The teacher had already left. He trusted me enough to use the equipment on my own.

But amongst the cabinets on the walls and the tables across the room I spotted a dark silhouette. Tensing up, I slowly reached my hand to the light switch and -

"You're here," the silhouette spoke, her voice evidently female.

I stopped my hand.

"You can turn it on."

And so I did.

Sitting atop the far table was the prettiest girl in my grade, with the highest grades, the best flute in the school band, and also the track team's fastest runner.

And here she was, smiling at me.

Confused, I asked, "Why are you here? Did the flame test snuff out on you too?"

She shook her head. "No. I finished it during class."

I approached the closest table - which was also the one farthest from her - and set my bag down. "Then you should probably be studying - "

" - you." She finished a sentence rather quietly, only allowing me to catch the last word.

"Huh?" I noticed she had a serious look on her face.

"I wanted to spend time with you," she repeated.

Upon hearing that, I burst out in laughter.

"Spending time with me?" I asked. "You're one of the best students of the school. Why spend time with me? Do you know who I am? I have bad grades, I eat lunch alone, and most of the people in our grade don't even know my name."

Without saying anything, the girl stepped off of the table, revealing behind her a Bunsen burner, a clamp that held a metal spoon, and a matchbox.

She gestured to the Bunsen burner.

I shrugged and moved over to her, picking up the matchbox while she gripped the gas knob.

"One, two, three," she counted, twisting the gas knob as I lit the match and swiftly moved it over the Bunsen burner's opening, where the natural gas lit aflame and produced a small, softly roaring cone of fire.

She reached for the clamp, whose metal spoon held a small pile of metal salts, and moved it into the flame.

Immediately, the flame took on a dark red hue, and lit up the room as the girl dimmed the lights, only leaving the flame as illumination.

"What do you see in this color?" she asked, her skin a soft pink in the light of the flame.

"Hatred," I muttered, gazing at the color of blood. "Anger. What I feel for others."

"You're lying," she interjected. "You don't hate anyone. You love everyone, no matter what."

Surprised by her forwardness, I countered, "How would you know? I doubt the star of our grade would know anything about dirt like me."

"I know that you just stayed behind to help put away the swimming equipment," she answered.

Looking away, I muttered, "well, that was just one thing - "

"You lent some money to a stranger for lunch," she continued, "and took the time to help the teacher sort papers."

"So?" I retorted. "What do I matter to you?"

I was answered with the girl drawing me into an embrace as she began to cry.

"Why do you call yourself dirt?" she asked in between tears. "Why can't you see your worth?"

Surprised for a moment, I couldn't answer. But then I muttered, "what worth does someone have if he simply does small deeds?"

"But it still matters!" she sobbed, drawing me closer. "You still matter! You will always matter to me!"

I was silent for a moment before asking, "then will you accept me? Not just for my good deeds, but for all of my flaws?"

"Of course," she whispered, burying her head into my shoulder. "I already did a long time ago."

As we both accepted myself in our hearts within that dark room, I think the red flame softened to a warming pink - the color of love.

-Fin