Somewhere in the Tennesse mountains, life went steadily and slowly. This was quite a cozy room. The fireplace was burning. The ticker of the big long case of the clock was rocking. The swing of the rocking chair placed beside the burning and crackling wood was making shadows that were tossing on the rear wall and ceiling. A lonely candle was burning on the shelf above. Sometimes a loud crack of the flaring wood, or the frosty wind rattling the window panes broke the silence of the room. And there she had been sitting, on a worn out rug that once would have been so dandyish. She was continuously staring into the fire with flaring red sparks, that flew towards the arched roof. It seemed as if she could stare at it for hours. The uninterrupted gaze brought tears to her sore eyes. But they remained still as if some sort of spell had bound her. A tear rolled down her cheek and seeped down into her lap, making the air even more pensive. Such agony. Out there, the sky went dark in a torrential fall but she was numb to every sensation. Every tick of the rocking pendulum seemed to be adding to her distress. 

                     

                A loud shatter, the frail glass pane could not stand the storm. Few broken edges still holding out the swampy wooden frame were helpless to produce any barrier against the frosty breeze.  A glacial spout of wind struck her body producing chills across her spine told her she was still alive. The flames started flickering and wavering swiftly. But even that ruthless gushes of frost gave out to break the ice on her feelings. She could not figure out which storm was more fierce, inside her or outside. The fire was getting feeble but still thriving for life against the cold, snappy wind. Her lips were cold and blue and the white face seemed to be of a sculpture. 

                The fire was losing the battle. And so did her soul.The flames were yielding, leaving ashes behind. The tears had stopped falling or the small ice crystals attached to her white cheeks might be her tears, frigid like her emotions. She wanted to cry so loud and so badly that the echo would reach the skies. The wavering swiftened.

Another gush, another chill and a subdued sob, or it might be the quivering soul. Her breathing was reckless. The agony had reached the climax. Her vision was blurred, maybe because of the snow flakes tangled in her lashes. Somehow she managed to blink, vision was better now but filled with such intense bright light that it hurt her sore cornea. The lids fell and the eyes closed eventually. The last starry spark went out. The sculpture dashed to the ground. Was it ecstasy? It finally surpassed the agony. The journey was over; long journey, from agony to ecstasy.