Cecil Baldwin

So she read a book and watered the potted plant that blocked her view of the Hollywood sign and made herself a simple dinner with whatever was left in the fridge and did the dishes.

She checked in on her candle, but it was still burning.

So she went to bed.

When she woke up, the candle would be out and that would be that.

But the candle was still burning when she woke up the next morning.

It was a workday, so she went to the florist shop.

The owner couldn't move around that well anymore and depended on Ruth for most of the physical work these days.

They weren't friends, exactly.

It was something more specific and deeper than that.

They relied on each other the way they relied on gravity and the continued existence of the sun.

Ruth came home from work and the candle was still burning.

So she watched some TV and went for a walk, said hi to her neighbors who weren't as unfriendly as they had first seemed when she moved in, and had in fact started inviting her to their parties, although she only went to them occasionally.

The next day, the candle was still burning.

And the day after that.

She went to work.

She did her chores.

She waited.

Soon enough, it would burn out.

The candle stayed lit for eight days.

After eight days, Ruth sat down and looked again at the candle.