A remake of a common philosophy story, regarding the teleported. But, I have a counter story. Ready? Here we go…

The creator laughed, his final experiment was a success, “I have created living fire!”

And then he died. Was it magic? Was it some advanced science? None knew. But somehow, the flame was alive. It saw the those around, and although it could not speak in words, it could flicker images to communicate.

The tribe who first found it, fortunately, were close to her inventor’s home, and visited regularly. The village fire had burnt out, and they were seeking a way to rekindle theirs.

The flame was taken to the village and his flame was set in the central pyre, and soon she was ablaze. Which such a huge display, she could easily communicate with the villagers, so he showed them an image of them all hugging. They called her a god. She didn’t know what this meant, but he accepted it. They seemed to know afterall.

Respectful of the living fire, the tribe was very careful not to ever let her go out. They dubbed her the eternal flame, and for generations they tended her. She did the best should could to remember what happened, and to help them where she could.

Then, one day, there was an emergency. One of the villagers needed head out into the night to find his missing daughter. His own torch was unlit, and he looked around. In desperation, he looked to the eternal flame, and thrust his torch in.

He pulled it away, and his torch was lit. She looked in interest to it, and then noticed something. Like her, it flickered images. The images were of shock and surprise, and this caused her shock and surprise. The villager was desperate though, and didn’t seem to care, and ran off into the night.

— —

The flame had been sitting in her pyre, when all of a sudden she was sucked out. She was now on a man’s torch, much smaller than she had been in a long time. She stared at the pyre where she had been, and was shocked to see it was still alive without her. She flickered frantically, trying to get its attention, and it responded in surprise, but the man took her away before anything could be done. Eventually, as they found her daughter, the man then set his torch in front of his tent, as was ritual to help light the village, and it stayed.

Having returned, she could still see the other flame flickering away. She flickered to it. “Who are you, and why are you in my Pyre.”

“I am you… or you were taken from me… I think?”

And so the two were confused for awhile, but eventually came to an understanding.

The larger fire flickered to the smaller one throughout the night, chatting happily, glad to have someone who understood their experience… until the half way through the night… the smaller fire died, depleted of fuel.

The larger fire was shocked, she had never seen herself die before. She didn’t know she COULD die. But there, she saw it. And it shocked her to the core.

The villagers, on the other hand, had a different revelation. They could spread the fire, make copies, and it would still be alive.

Many nights it repeated… copies made, each one thinking they were the original until shown otherwise. And they died. She was glad for the villagers giving them lives, but also sad they let them die… but she knew it was hard enough to keep just one eternal flame fueled.

Then the invaders came.

They overturned the pyre and doused it, and the villages scattered. One villager, however, with a torch, survived into the night. She wondered, “I still have the memories, but now I am the only one. What does this mean?”

Eventually the invaders left, and the villagers returned. The one villager with a torch, placed it back in the pyre, reigniting it. It was a similar event as when she was first brought to the pyre so many years ago. So she began to wonder… what am I? Am I the glowing plasma above the coals? Am I the coal or branches being burned? It was all very troubling.

Because the fire above the coals, the fire, lasted only for a moment, but was constantly being renewed by more burning coals. The flame from one second was not the same as the next. The coals, however, were regularly replaced as well.

What am I? Over the course of even just half a day, all of her parts were replaced.

As she watched the villagers, she began to realize that, they too, were constantly being replaced, just much slower.

Then one day, someone brought a creation from the outside world… something called ‘a matchbox.’

She watched a combination of curiosity, awe, and horror, as one of the torches that carried one of her copies ran out one day. And rather than ignite the torch from her, they lit it using the matches. All the parts were there, there was flickering, and fuel… but it was not her. It did not signal her. It was just ordinary fire.

It was then that she realized her mistake. She was not the parts at all. She was something that happened to the parts. She was not an object. She was an event.