“The Flame That Forgot to Die”
Long ago, when the world was still young and silence lived between the trees, fire did not belong to humans. It was sacred, hidden deep within the stars, guarded by spirits who spoke only in dreams.
One winter, a great cold swept the land. The rivers forgot how to flow. The sun slept longer than it should. The people wept not for themselves, but for the children whose laughter had turned to coughing, for the elders whose breath grew too thin.
The animals gathered to decide who would fly to the sky and steal back the flame. The eagle was strong, but too proud. The owl was wise, but too slow. The bear was brave, but the heavens were too high.
Then came the hummingbird.
Tiny. Weightless. Barely seen.
They laughed.
But she bowed her head and said,
“Let me try. I was born between heartbeats. I know how to move where no one looks.”
She flew for seven days, without rest, without song. Her wings burned. Her feathers turned to ash. But when she reached the stars, she tucked a spark into her chest and turned for home.
By the time she returned, her body was smoke. But the spark still glowed. She let it fall — and fire was born on Earth.
They say that’s why hummingbirds shimmer like embers in the sun.
Why you can never catch them.
Why, even in stillness, they hum.
She gave us warmth at the cost of her body.
But her spirit? It never stopped flying.
And if you ever feel a sudden flicker in your chest, like something remembered —
That’s her.
The Flame That Forgot to Die.
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