Located on East Clay Street, this Dollar General is as inconspicuous as it is conveniently located…read more Little did I know that those front, meticulously cleaned doors were akin to a portal to another dimension entirely. Oh hindsight, you deviant delinquent you. From the overly slanted lines of the side parking to the top 40 hits resonating from the acoustically refined speakers, I should've known something was wonderfully amiss.
I browsed the aisles one by one, each end cap serving as an expertly crafted forward to the aisles classic novel. Canned foods galore, prophylactics perfectly positioned, and Holiday sundries plentiful, I began to fear my bank account, unlike my enthusiasm would soon be drained. Whilst holding back tears, I placed nearly all of my selections back on their respective shelves. Hoping that I, a mere customer would be able to re-display them as impeccably as they once were by the stock boys. Nay, stock artisans.
As my journey throughout this store that humbly refers to itself as "general" drew to a close, I had selected one item that I deemed worthy of absolutely draining my Swiss bank account. A candle with the branding of "Truly Living", so fine that simple glass itself couldn't contain it. Made of iron cast by the finest smiths in all of Mebane. The wax contained in this vessel was high maintenance to be sure, but what set it apart from the herd was that it knew it's worth. Yes, this was an absolute vixen of a candle, a siren of scent. Flaunting its alluring smell contained in a miniature cast iron skillet, this seemingly innocent mold of wax knew what it was doing to me. Even as a man of very discerning taste, I can't deny, I liked it.
Fast forward, it's just past sundown. Mere hours after I had fatefully exited the haven known as "Dollar General", I lit the candle. How bold I was to set fire to this masterpiece, would you set fire to an original Picasso? No, no, you haven't the gall to do such a thing, but I'm no ordinary being. Perhaps this is the dilemma the artist intended. Create a piece of art that appears as though it's to be set on fire, but sculpting it so beautifully you would never dare. Clever indeed, my sweet, sweet anonymous candle maker.
I accepted that dare. As soon as the wick caught fire, my heart was also set ablaze. The smell of apple cinnamon pushed absolutely all feelings aside, save for bliss. For the first time in my life I was truly living. So suddenly I, as all mortal beings inevitably do, had to enter a slumber. Oh yes, how I yearned for the sweet sand of the night man to be blown into my sight receptacles. Bitter reluctance reared it's ugly head with its insistence of safety, I knew what must be done. With the gust of a thousand winds, I blew out the oh so unfortunately mortal flame. As if a volcano covering the isles of Hawaii in scorching lava, wax encrusted the finish of my coffee table.
My heart then became as dark as the room the candle had once lit and yet another unremovable stain was added to my soul. The wax has now all but faded, but as an angel unseen, is all around me.
