Carrying a Torch

by Indigo

A life like mine is sure to have its ups and downs. Can't help but have 'em.

Considerin' exactly how long this life of mine is.

An' how long I get to grieve and ponder.

To hope and dread.

To realize.

To resist.

To fall.

To feel.

And wait for the circle to close again.

I've carried the torch for almost ten decades.

No matter how far I keep it from my heart, the flame always finds me. It always finds me, and I burn -- from the inside out. Scars across my soul that nothin' will heal.

An' believe me, I know about healin'. I carry no scars of the kind you can see.

Even worse -- I know I've gone through this more times than I can remember.

The pain stays, even though I've had holes punched in my memory, letting the thoughts seep away through the sieve of my mind.

But deja vu is a terrible thing. When a pair of eyes meet mine across a crowded room, an' I know I've looked into them before. Or when I hear someone whisper my name -- an' I get this familiar tingle at the back of my skull -- the hairs on my neck raise, remindin' me of that damn circle.

Remindin' me I carry the torch.

I can remember Silver Fox, an' I will make Creed suffer for that. I'll make him pay.

I can remember Zealot. It began as nothin' but two souls celebratin' life but it became a flame that consumed me -- and burned my soul, leavin' a scar nobody but me knows is there. At least she's a trick candle -- she never goes out. That flame has at least cooled to a comfortable flame.

I can remember Tyger. True to the cat, she seems t'have nine lives. One day, though, I'm sure. Cat scratch fever is another kind of heat. And that burns too.

Sometimes carryin' that torch is too much -- even for me. Sometimes it burns away the man I aspire to be, leavin' only the beast behind.

An' then the flame purifies me once more.

Mariko.

My purifying flame. The torch I would've gladly carried until my dying day -- and her flame snuffed out. Leaving me again.

To carry the torch.

And one flame left. The one that does not burn for me. The one I cannot touch. The one I cannot look away from.

Jean.

Bright, blazing, fire an' life incarnate.

The Phoenix. Consumed by flames, born anew. When she died, I believed I'd die too. But I had to endure the flame; bad as it was for me, it was worse for the kid.

Losing Jean's flame nearly snuffed his.

But like the Phoenix, Jean came back.

The kid lit up again. Another purifying fire -- Scotty lived again.

An' me? I still can't look away from that flame.

The one that would burn so good. The one that can't be put out.

An' so I carry the torch.

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