A Sestina Inspired by SCP-4975

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I hear crickets. Coyotes in the distance, 

Their encircling howls echo against the mountains.  

Underneath me, cold: 

Dirt rubs against my skin. 

In front of me, warmth. 

I open my eyes: 

Flames, darkness. I’m alone. 

I can’t let the fire go out. 

I’m surrounded by forest 

At a clearing between two trails 

Just wide enough for a wanderer 

To tend their blazing fire 

And keep out the cold of the night. 

 
The moon watches me with her pale grey eyes. 

They’re old, worn—they’ve seen many things, 

She chased me on long car rides as a child; 

I’m not a child anymore. 

I wish I had someone to talk to 

But it’s just me. I’m alone, tending my fire. 

I hear the crunch of branches behind a thicket 

I turn, locking eyes with a fox; 

He’s minding his business, so I mind mine. 

I take my stick and poke the fire; 

Sparks shoot up, filling the night 

With burning orange as I throw on another log. 

 
Morning will come soon enough, yet I must stay vigilant. 

Behind me, a thunderous voice—a warning 

To keep my guard up and avoid distraction; 

To keep my fire: a testament of my will against the darkness. 

I look to see where the voice is coming from— 

The voice is gone, replaced by silence. 

Was it in my head? It felt so real. 

 
I lost someone to the night once. 

He kept his vigil somewhere else, far away— 

The remains of an abandoned schoolhouse 

Kept his fire safe against the night, 

But the fire couldn’t keep him safe on its own. 

I persevere, just as he persevered, until he could no longer. 

 
I met him in the daylight, a younger day 

He was my friend, my brother. 

The sun radiated from his face, his hair, his smile 

He was a joy to others, but somehow 

He couldn’t bring hope to the one who needed it most. 

 
For some of us, the vigil never ends. 

 
The night comes when least expected 

He was resilient but alone. 

The wind didn’t overtake his flame, 

He let it go out. 

He persevered, yet the night was dark 

And the voice of warning came too late. 

 
I wish I knew if he was startled 

When he heard the voices of the night 

Or if he felt protected by the moon 

Standing sentinel over his camp. 

How would he have felt 

Had he seen the colors of a new day 

Proclaiming their presence with the music of morning? 

I wish I knew him. 

 
Here I am 

Keeping a vigil of my own. 

I cry out to the stars, or God, or anyone who’ll listen, 

But I hear nothing save the echo of my voice 

Reverberating through the hills and across the valley. 

 
Maybe someone heard me! 

 
Maybe someone, tending their own fire, 

Will hear my cries and be further resolved 

To keep the light till morning 

When the fire will find its new home 

In the east, as the sun travels up from the horizon. 

This hope—that somewhere my cries are heard— 

Gives me strength, gives me courage. 

I can greet the dawn as it greets me 

With brilliance and determination and warmth. 

I can find my hope in a new day… 

 

I feel strangely content; 

I always knew I’d have to keep the fire someday, 

I’ve never been able to escape thoughts of the past 

Or hopes for a tomorrow that may never come. 

But now, I’m happy to sit by my fire. 

I won’t let it go out.