The glint in her eyes was insane. Not only a little crazy, but full on mad. The grin marrying her hollow face only was conformation of her unhinged state.

But she was in jolly spirits. Laughter bouncing of the walls. Her riddles leaving the audience cautious but curious.

“You measure my life in hours and I serve you by expiring. I’m quick when I’m thin and slow when I’m fat. The wind is my enemy!” She shouts with glee.

Then whispered, “What am I?”

But before the baffled audience can answer she hops up and leaves the diner with out another word.

Alone in her house, Rachel Higgins, lets the masks slip. Making others think you’re insane is quite entertaining. Much preferable to the broken feeling inside.

She moves to her bed side where a candle stands. Dried wax form tear shaped stains down the expiring candle’s side.

Rachel grabs the match box next to it and watches as the flame licks her fingers. Sighing, she lights the candle.

She watches for hours as the candle dwindles down to nothing.

Crumpling to the ground Rachel fights the voices whispering that she is crazy.

They will go away. They will go away. She repeats, but they don’t.

The candle is nothing but a puddle of wax.