March 9th, but the year is 1997. Another protest. This one, though, is coming to an end, calming down, and not beginning. It has lasted long and achieved much, but everything has to end sometime, even such a fine protest. The procession is, in a dreary stagger through Terazije, crawling to London. It looks as if it is the end, although the struggle has just begun and the people are telling their little tales, oblivious of the reason for their being in the street. We reminiscence the past days, the days in which the first victims of the fight for democracy fell. We are victims also, not as much as the two killed on March 9th 1991, of course, but we sacrificed over a hundred days of our lives in a struggle for what is ours. Candles are beginning to show in the crowd. An uninformed person doesn't seem to comprehend their purpose. He wasn't there when the victims fell; besides, he was too young. He did not understand then, but it is different now. So he lights the candle, without waiting for the others. He has his own symbolism. It is right to stir and burn. A candle is to be lit in a sacred moment with a holy flame. He burns with the holy flame of the Fire Weapon. To him, it is sanctity. More than a hundred days spent in the street and all other places where the protest was happening 24 hours a day. He cares. If only half the people cared half as much, maybe everything would happen differently. Not everyone is content with walking alone, though even that is a lot...A flame appears. Alone in the crowd. He understands, but his thinking is different. In order to make some things happen, one needs to think differently. He carries a small flame in the great crowd. He won't permit the wind to kill his flame. The flame is revolution. A gust of wind and a trace of smoke is all that remains of the revolution. Never mind, something that was lit once can burn again. A hand goes to the pocket and a flash of the Fire Weapon. The candle's flame. Somebody lights it and it starts to burn. Some other "people who do not grasp the moment" are joining. "Can I light my candle?" Of course, it is here for us. Perhaps they don't understand the symbolism; nevertheless. the flame is spreading...

Everybody halts. Someone asks for a moment of silence and for the candles to be lit. The flame appears on many sides and it is spreading. Many flames, but all lit at the command of one; the masses are following an individual. A wrong turnout. Everybody should think for themselves and light their own flames when they find it appropriate. The problem is that some people simply do not use their heads and are difficult to awaken, as if they are keeping their candles in a secluded, damp and dim chamber of their souls, far away from the eyes of strangers. Nobody will or can steel another person's revolution; however, they can persuade you to hide it so deep inside, that even you forget where it is...A moment of silence has passes. We are still standing still. Here is an idea: why hold a candle, when you can place it on the ground. A wise idea, immoral and incorrect. It is true - your hands won't get tired, but you are alienated from your flame then, and you are making it possible for someone to walk over it. Should you allow somebody to step over your energetically expressed will just because it is easier? A flame is a powerful thing. It is small, but its energy is large and goes a long way in the dark. It can burn the one who plays with it but can warm up pleasantly when used for a good cause. It is very powerful...

The candle has almost come to an end. The others are still pretty long. Never mind, it was him who started it all. Wax is dripping on the fingers. It is pleasant and comforting. It is interesting, the way the drops of yellow wax are pouring on the skin. The flame dies. A gust of wind, and it is gone. This time, everything round him is burning. Somebody has already offered assistance. The revolution helps itself...

Another location of an unfortunate event. Another lost life. People leave their candles in a flowerpot. How is one to leave his flame, how can he give it up? Still, he carries it within. The others may not understand him, nor will ever, but that is what democracy is about. Everybody is entitled to their own opinion. Everybody has the freedom of action...

"May I light a cigarette?", a girl asks. Why not? It is true that it is not customary for the cigarettes to be lit with a church candle, but this candle doesn't burn with a church flame anyhow. The flame is Christian, but is not institutionalized and its liberty, and thus responsibility, is greater. A new spark is smoldering, one that originated from the initial flame. It is interesting, the power of this spark. It is hidden behind a thin layer of ashes, but can burn much more severely than the flame itself. It appears to be naive, but is far from that, and is much more difficult to put out. The wind only makes it stronger, it takes at least water, or a greater force. A revolution which is hiding, yet works...

The candle is approaching its end. Threatening heat can already be sensed on the nails. It is not easy to endure the pressure in every moment. He desired to give up. One should never give up. The flame guided him through the darkness, but the day hasn't come yet. It is dawning and the sun is visible, but the shadows are still long and sinister, and he is only coming out from the darkness. It aches. It feels like his nails are burning. There re only a few millimeters of the candle left, a few grams of wax and some of the fuse. The pain is tremendous. It is time to quit. He blows and puts the flame out. The spark at the end of the fuse can be seen for another few seconds, and then it disappears to, in a trace of smoke. The fingers ache. He burned himself a little, and a yellow blister has appeared. No loss, just a little something that he sacrificed and invested in the future. The flame must go on. He puts his hand in the pocket and takes out a new candle. The Fire Weapon strikes again and the flame appears. The revolution continues.

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