personal time to relax and breathe when in the face of danger - a short story of the night-light.
“One day,” said the boy. “One day.”
Time moved in its shifting fashion, sparking new storms and setting lazy clouds over the sky of the stone tower. The boy gazed over the tower top wall, leaning over slightly. The wind faded and he whispered his words once more.
“It’s another day. I can’t wait,” he said.
But of course he knew he would.
Sleep was another adventure in the late evening. The child smiled as he turned on the bed, and grinned each time he jumped out of a sleepy spell. Cursed as they were, they plagued him often, pulling at his eyelids and tugging at his heels.
“I don’t lie,” he whispered there, in the darkness of the room. “It will be some day.”
That morning the child was greeted by that woman’s dictations.
Straighten your collar.
Stop leaving your door open.
Clean up that crown of yours!
Why don’t you act more like him?
I don’t want a son.
Dictations transformed into pleas and then melted into sobs, and finally exploded into shrieks of unmatched intensity. Fearing the worst punishment, the boy returned to his room, hit the latch and shut out the light.
A single candle kept him company.
He stared into the fire, smiling as he had before in the night.
“Very soon,” he chuckled. The fire blurred with the thick tears in his eyes. He could only smile.
“So close,” he said, wrapping his arms around his knees as the night rolled on, sleep far from his wary eyes.
Two mornings later, the candle wasn’t enough for the shrieks. By then the flame had snuffed out, the wax withered away, and the child-boy smiled again, this time in pleasant understanding.
He opened the back door, stepping out onto the tower. On the tower’s top, he stared into the sky.
On this perfect day, he leaned over, the bed of clouds below.
On this beautiful, cursed, blessed day, the forgiven boy fell through the clouds, far into the slumber of which he had once dreamed.