There once was a light, a very bright light, who shone brighter than any light in town. The light was held by a well-built, black light-post; whose design resembled a king piece in the game of chess. The light post was magnificent; there wasn’t a scratch on it. The glass bulb, which covered the luminous light, was spotless, and had a shine of its own. Not even the birds in the sky dared to bombard the light with their liquid poop-bombs.
Directly under the lamp, was a small wooden-bench, with a rustic finish. It had the capacity to fit two people (three, if you had a tiny waist or slender shoulders, or, if you were a child). The area; the lamp—everything about it, was beautiful. Yet, it was vacant. No person, no animal, no thing, ever graced the lights presence. Why, the light thought, does no one come to see me? My light has the most radiant shine in town. He began to think the view from the bench was the issue: a run-down grocery store people only stopped at if there was no other option for gas. Then again, it could be the stench surrounding the light: a stench coming from the heavy smoke, emitted from the factory behind it. But, none of it made sense, because just done the block, a mere 100-feet to the left, stood a row of about six lamps. None of those lamps came close to the stature of the lone lamp; none were near as bright; in fact, a couple of the lights seemed to be on their last flicker. Yet, it was always filled with people and animals and things. I just don’t understand—none if it makes sense! thought the lamp, who was jealous, and had every right to be. People, of all different kinds, and at all different times, came to see these lamps, and none—not even by mistake!—came to see the lonely shine of my lamp. No one will ever know of my beauty. thought the lonesome lamp, as it continued to shine (because lamps can’t give up), waiting. . . for just one passer-by.
Minutes turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months—to years, and not a single person, animal, or thing, even glanced at the light. It was alone and unwanted. The light would spend its time watching, with emotions of envy, the other lights get all the attention: dogs would do their business on the base of the lamp, while their owners watched in amazement of their dogs ability to balance on three legs; couples would use the lights to take better pictures on their phone (usually the ladies idea); people, on a night stroll, would stop to smoke a cigarette under the lights; and both children and teens would use the lights’ shine to play games in the street.
Over time, the lamp stopped watching. It was too sad to care. And it hoped…and hoped, its light would go dark—until, one summer night, a slow-walking couple waddled in the direction of the lamp. Could it be? Could it finally be? That my light, will finally be seen? The light was eager, but slow to believe it would really happen, after all, no one had ever glanced in the lights direction.
The couple inched closer and closer to the light and its bech. They were an older couple; who seemed to be in their late seventies, and fighting off death. But they looked happy and content. It seemed that, by the looks on their faces, they were just happy to be together. The couple was now in front of the bench, in squatting position, ready to rest their flabby bottoms on the wooden seat. The lamp now knew this was real. It did everything it could to give them the most alluring light it could give. And it did just that. So alluring was the light, and so comfy was the bench, that the couple would visit every Saturday around eight at night, just when the light would start to shine.
This visit continued for years—and the light was ecstatic! To the light, this was its purpose; this was what it was meant to do: shine for this delightful couple, forever. And so it was, that the light would shine on for the aging couple every Saturday at eight. The light would watch and listen as they grew: it learned of their life together, and all they have accomplished; it learned of their two sons and a daughter, who by the sounds of it, made them so proud; it learned of everything—even the quirks each had, which made the other laugh. It was perfect until, flicker. . .flicker, flicker-flicker!
Oh, no! This can’t be. thought the light, who all of a sudden felt drained-out and tired. I just found my purpose! I can’t—I won’t leave them without a light. They need me. And so, every day, the light fought off the end. Though, each day became tougher, and each flicker became longer; and the light knew, it couldn’t last much longer. But it wouldn’t give up! Not yet. For the current day was Friday, and the light vowed to at least give them light, for one more night.
Saturday came, the time was eight, but there was no sign of the couple. Where could they be?—flicker, flicker, flicker—I don’t have much more to give. The light went off and on, off…and on, for what seemed to be hours, but there was still no sign of the beloved couple. Then, all of a sudden, the light felt. . .calm. There was no explanation: maybe it was the whisper of the wind, or the quiet hum of the trees. Whatever it was, the light felt at peace. It felt as though the couple was no longer in need of its shine; that they found a new, much more magnificent light. A light which would last forever. The light gave its last flicker, feeling proud and as sunny as a light could be, and thought: I am so thankful to have been, the lonely light, on this side of the street. . .then the light went dark.