Alexandria paced the floor as the fire crackled in the background. She followed the burgundy circular pattern on the rug.
"Enough!" she cried. She looked at the letter on the dark mahogany table. Flames' reflections danced around the rectangular envelope.
"I'm not burning this one."
She watched the unopened letter as if it were threatening to her presence. It was the third she had received. The first was five days ago after their heated arguments. Her flames of fury from that night were now smoldering. She attempted to write letters in response, yet had torn them in anger. Sadness then led them, joined with his, to be kindling to the pine.
Being drawn to the fire, she moved toward it and sat cross legged on the creamy long-haired sheepskin rug. She pressed her hands into the softness.
A lone tear made a trail along her cheek and down toward her chin.
She felt cold, abandoned and weak.
Weakness was an unfamiliar feeling. This is why she felt the anger. The anger was her internal fire still prodding her to make a decision.
"I should never have to do this," she said to herself. "It doesn't feel fair and has pain written all over it."
She looked behind her. Beside the unopened letter, a red candle burned half way down, showing time's passing. Alexandria sat alone in the house, darkened by all but the fires around her.
She felt darkened within herself.
"I have half a candle left to make my final decision," she said as she turned back to look into the fireplace's flames.
What am I going to do?
Her chest rose as she took a slow deep breath. She exhaled as long as she could and felt some tension release as other choices came to her mind.