“Stay back!” the funny little jellybean yells towards nothing in particular. “The flame is mine! Don’t anyone come near! Nobody!”
Quickly scanning his surroundings, the funny little jellybean eyes a few pieces of oxygen here and there. The dirty little infestations are hovering around the premise of the sacred flame and he would not have it! Not one bit!
“Shoo! Shoo! Nasty little things like you would only let the flame wear thin!” The funny little jellybean flails his body up and down and all around, trying to smash the invisible pieces of existence into nothing. His grunts and groans echo throughout the abandoned forest, with the trees holding firm and the sky giving birth to the encompassing moon. The trees’ afros and pretty little extensions cut segments of the darkened sky into a picture of individual perception. If from here the moon looks down upon the funny little jelly bean and his rambunctious raucous and bouncy bustling, one might be familiar with this scene.
The funny little jellybean, satisfied with his pummeling of powdered puffs, retreats back to his treasure, his reason, his utmost passion beyond everything: the flame. How enlightening, how strengthening, this particular flame is. A flame so massive it could defile any material, yet so controlled that one could mock its most sensitive areas and still remain unsinged. The quivering ferocity furnished deep within the body of the flame holds steady the constant and unwavering base magnificently. A timid maroon tucked inside, surrounded by flashes of hot pink and flickers of deep orange and light purple embody the distinctness of the flame’s beauty in color. Its warmth and inviting sensation colors the funny little jellybean with its own color of hot pink. However, the most amazing of all feelings are contained in the roar of the fire’s silence, that which sends waves of coldness and hesitation though the body of our dear funny little jellybean. “Truly,” it thinks to itself, “this is the flame to compare all flames.”
“Say here, bean!” A voice echoes through the murky woods. The funny little jellybean turns its being towards the source of the hoarse voice and gasps. It cannot be! Beyond his sugary frame lay before him yet another flame! A flame whose magnificence radiates from its kindling frame, with strength to steady its turbulent uniformity. A flame which sparks and overflows with a decadence known only to royalty. It shines with a vivid blue hue, that which cuts into the image of the darkened sky with a feeling of insightful melancholy. “Must you waste your tasty tarts on this flacid flame? I am more suited for your jolly jelly!”
“W-What is this? How can this be?” The funny little jellybean looks from flame to flame. “Is there another that cannot compare? Is there another whose embers red flare?”
“I am that with which you seek! And if I be late, let me fight my way through! Let me warm your soul with my illuminous persona! Give me the chance to show how bright I may shine, how high my body may soar, with your precious embrace to power my core!”
The newcomer glistens in the darkness. A warmness that’s familiar, yet bizarre. A feeling so queer it leaves the funny little jellybean isolated and in fear. It’s something so recognizable, yet so sudden and foreboding that the funny little jellybean flutters from side to side. Its mind, or lack thereof, races like bees preying upon a garden. It cannot think, it cannot will. It sputters and spurts until it goes away. The thought of this, the thought of that, the thought of thoughts to thoughtfully distraught. Who is the flame? What is the flame? Am I flaming the flame I possess now for a flame that beckons me further? The flame is all it knows. The flame, the flame.
“How do I know?” the funny little jellybean beckons. “How do I know you are the one to which all flames flicker?”
“Do you not see? How radiantly I glow? The power that I embody? Do you not feel the spark between us? The friction that bequeaths us towards each other? I am everything which you already have, only more! I am the superior flame! All other flames use I as a comparison to their beauty!”
“It is true… you call unto me like no other. Even my own flame does not show the same compassion, the same fire, with which you embody for my affection, my attention, my companionship.”
“So you admit you belong to me! That we are destined beyond our current situations!”
“It may be so…” The funny little jellybean turns and gazes upon the flame with which he once held the utmost regard. The flame that dazzled his vision without as much as any excessive burst. The silence cut deep into his bouncehouse heart. “Do you not wish for us to be together? Are you truly the flame for me? Have I been wrong all this time?”
The first flame remains solitary; working itself with the same precision that was flowing within it throughout this entire story. Its simplicity works with its efficiency. However, it remains silent to the beckoning little jelly bean, who regards it with a look of puzzlement.
“Ha! Not a single word on its defense. I am clearly the better of the two!” The new flame laughs maliciously, spreading a line of fire from its body to the ground below.
“But are you?” the little jellybean coos almost mechanically.
“I am! Do you disagree?”
The determined little jellybean rolls over the the old flame’s side, taking in the comfort that used to compel him so. “I disagree. It may not be as powerful, it may not be as beautiful, and it may not have as sly a tongue as thee, but let it be known that this is the flame for me!”
“And for what reason?”
“The reason that I know in my heart to be true; this flame is the flame for me, if only for the fact that its the only flame I care to believe in. The only flame I care to beckon, to comfort, to caress. The only flame that I feel comfortable with! This is the flame for me because you are not the flame for me!”
“What nonsense! How could you possibly know without any determination?”
The funny little jellybean turns toward the new flame, whose body burns with heightened ferocity and disgust. The color goes from a mellow blue to a frightening neon glow, like the moon’s mighty eye within the form of a solitary flame. If not for the trees and the moon in the sky, only this new flame would be visible in the withering eyes of this fidgety little jellybean.
“I don’t know.”