FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #7

"She's a local." One of the men yelled in mock horror.

“Lady, you ain’t no goddamn local.” One of the other men sneered as he pushed the woman into the arms of his friends.

“You may not be a local,” the friend said as he caught her and held tightly onto her arms, “but you can show us how to be friendly.”

This statement got a collected whoop of approval from the gang of five that circled myself, and the woman.

“Please!” The woman begged, “I grew up right down the block from here. I probably know your families!” The woman was reaching now, trying to say anything that would save her. She didn’t realize that her fate was already sealed.

I tried calling out, as I always did, but all that I could manage was a gentle hum of electrical current. I tried to push even harder, but the light coming from my bulb burned at exactly the same wattage as it always did. I tried to get the attention of the police car a few blocks down, but even if I had not been bolted into the cement, anchored permanently on the corner of Brunswick and Third, it would have been nearly impossible to get the cops out of their cruiser. There was some ignorant rule that prevented them from leaving their “post”, which basically meant that they could not do their job.

I looked back down at the poor woman, and watched her being dragged back into the darkened ally. Her makeup was smeared around her eyes, giving her a very pathetic look. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t.

I heard her scream once before they muffled her and finished dragging her into the recesses of their demented playground, far from the reaches of my illuminating arms.

There alone, on the corner of Brunswick and Third I stood, like the permanent object I was.

I’m one of the city’s finest, no you won’t ever see me in a parade, my guys don’t care for exhibitionism. I’m one of the cities finest, no you don’t see us out in the intersection asking for money once a year, you don’t hear about us shrieking our duties ever, you never hear from us, and that is the way we like it.

I am a lamp post, a lighthouse for the streets, warning not ships about the dangerous rocks, but instead innocent civilians about the dangers lurking in the uncharted waters of the streets.

For twelve years I have faithfully carried out my duties. For twelve years I have always, like clockwork, turned on as the sun sank beneath the horizon, dipping behind the interstate.

The sun, that traitor! Even during the day I volunteered to be the bearer of signs that read MISSING, or HELP, even the occasional YARD SALE. But the sun was only a half-shifter, cutting and running just as the real work began.

Not even during the blackout back in the 90’s did I take a night off. The blackout had rolled through the city but stopped a solid block before hitting my turf. That night I remember seeing from my perch the chaos that was ensuing downtown. Rioters, thieves, and complete anarchy seemed to engulf the familiar streets of the city. The police set up a blockade a few feet away and fought to restore order. Ever vigil I offered backup and made sure that everyone had the illumination they needed.

Yet, that was nearly a decade ago. Back when I didn’t have so many chips in my paint or graffiti on my frame. Back when the cops and Mayor seemed to care.

The Mayor! Don’t even get me started on that broad. Sure, she’s attractive. Sure, she has all the right fancy degrees, but she has a fake smile, one that radiates but does not illuminate. I never did care for her. Especially when one of her campaign stooges plastered a VOTE FOR ME sign right on my base. They did this at the expense of covering up a HAVE YOU SEEN HER poster that asked people to call if they had seen a missing girl.

My partner across the intersection had given up long ago, blowing his bulb whenever they replaced it. He hadn’t been able to take the pressure of working the beat. He should have been placed across town in Five Oaks, or one of the gated communities on the outskirts of the west side.

Brunswick and Third was no place for a softie. This was ground zero in the war against poverty and crime.

I was as seasoned as they came, but even I was beginning to show signs of battle fatigue. The final straw had been the “local woman.” Don’t get me wrong I have seen my share of rapes and assaults.

 I’m no damn night light mind you; I am one of the cities finest! But there comes a time when enough is enough. There comes a time when you can’t stand to see another kid get hooked on crack. There comes a time when you can’t stand to see another drunk stumble by on his way home to beat his family. There comes a time when you can’t illuminate the streets anymore because the only thing that can ever be illuminated is the truth, and on the corner of Brunswick and Third that truth is an ugly one.

So don’t judge me. Like I said, that “local woman” was the last straw. There had been something about her red hair, and her eye makeup that broke whatever resolve I had left. And as if the incident hadn’t been bad enough the next morning when the sun decided to stroll back in for the day shift I had to stand and watch silently as two kids walking to school stopped by the ally and made their discovery.

‘Look away!’ I wanted to shout.

In the name of Thomas Edison, why did it have to be kids!

The one with the pink book bag saw the woman first. Stopping she leaned over and stared into the ally. Her feet planted firmly on the ground she was trying to figure out what exactly she was looking at. As the initial confusion wore off she stood up straight and in that move it looked like the blood ran straight from her face to the bottom of the soles on her feet.

The boy she was with, brother by the looks of it, was still rambling aimlessly about the show he had watched last night. Neither one of them could be over twelve. As if on cue, after the boy asked her what was wrong, the girl let out a scream that could be heard rebounding off the cement on the corner of Brunswick and Third.

Twenty minutes later the cops, kid’s parents, and local television station showed up. The parents sat with the kids in the cruiser as they told their story and the cops pretended that their colleagues were not there the night before to prevent the causality our city had suffered. The media played the same old game it always did, pretending to be shocked and horrified at what had happened. The media was as bad as the Mayor’s smile, except where she radiated the media highlighted.

Highlighting and radiating are very much different things then illumination. Radiating is self-serving. It works to project an image, or thought onto someone else. It reveals nothing; save for the message the sender wants. Highlighting is close to illumination but it picks and chooses what is to be revealed. It is not creative like radiation, but it too works to send a pre-packaged message. In this both are not self-less, and as a lamppost I want nothing to do with it.

That night, long after the radiation and highlighting had faded off, after the sun had clocked out and I had assumed my full responsibilities, I decided I could not continue.

I would take the same path that my partner had. I had finally blown out completely.

It was a horrible feeling. It was a darkness that not even my wattage could banish. As the familiar array of moths circled and battered their wings against my globe I resolved to end my employment during the next full moon. I know it sounds weird, but I couldn’t have my first night off be one that would plunge the corner of Brunswick and Third into complete darkness. Instead I would wait for a night that the moon decided to do its monthly volunteering. At least then this corner I had worked at for so long would be weaned slowly into the cities darkness.

I bid my time slowly. I ignored everything that was happening below me, less some new act would push me over the edge. Each night I watched as the moon grew bigger, brighter, more complete. In a way it was strangely poetic that as the moon became more and more full I became more and more empty. But I’m a lamppost and not a poet so I will spare you.

Finally, my night came. As the sun dipped behind the six lanes of traffic on the interstate, I turned my attention to the moon. I would wait until it was well into the night before I went.

I wanted my flash to be something special, if not for anyone else at least for me.

As the night rolled along and I neared my end I saw something on the horizon. Storm clouds, big ones too. It was going to be one hell of a storm.

‘Fitting,’ I thought to myself. Maybe at the first sign of lighting I would go out. That was dramatic; it would be a good exit to a long and uninspiring career.

In a way the rain saved me. As the clouds rolled down my street I looked down to watch the pavement become more emphasized, turning from a dull grey to a rich black. As I looked down at the pavement, I saw a woman walking back and forth with her cell phone drastically calling for a cab. As she told the cab service “Corner of Brunswick and Third” she nearly tripped. God only knows what she was doing on this side of town. Her shoes, the culprit in the near tripping incident that would have sent her sprawling, were not made for trekking up and down the streets. Instead they looked much better at retrieving copies in an office downtown.

Suddenly from the shadows I saw him. He was a young guy, mid-twenties, with his hood up. He walked with purpose right towards the woman. By now she had her back turned to the corner and was looking down the street for her cab.

Walking right up to the woman she never saw him until he was directly behind her.

“Lady,” The guy said.

“What-” The woman said in fright as she spun around to see who was talking to her.

As she did, her shoes made themselves known again and she began to fall backwards.

With quick, young reflexes the guy reached out and caught her.

“I’m sorry lady, but I just wanted to let you know you dropped your phone.” Bending down he picked it up and handed it back to her. She had dropped it before when she nearly fell, she thought she had placed it in her purse, but as she had slipped it had fallen out on the pavement.

Looking perplexed the woman reached out, tentatively at first and then with a quick swipe, and took the phone away from the young man.

“Thanks.” The woman said as she replaced the phone back in her purse.

There followed a split second of silence, a very awkward silence, one in which the woman realized that the young man meant her no harm and the young man realized that the woman feared him. Under my light, on the corner of Brunswick and Third, this illumination occurred. The woman realized her prejudice in the reflection of the young man’s features, and the young man realized the persona he was projecting.

Stepping back the two gazed at each other for another uncomfortable minute and went on their way with a simple “thanks…” and “you’re welcome…”

Disappearing into the ally the young man continued onto his destination. The woman waited another second underneath my light before the taxi arrived and she climbed inside.

Watching the taillights disappear down the width of Brunswick I thought quietly to myself.

Illumination…I had illuminated something amazing just then, a split second in which two totally random people learned something about themselves. They had not been able to pick and choose what they had learned. They had not been able to push forward an image they approved of. Instead, on the corner of Brunswick and Third, they had been illuminated.

The rest of the night I went back and forth trying to decide what to do. Should I continue my service to the city? Should I take the easy way out? As the dawn neared I knew I had to decide fast, lest I miss my chance to go out with a “bang.”

But I didn’t have enough time to decide and as I clicked off for the day shift I watched the first ray of sunshine peek over the horizon.

In that single ray something happened. I realized that I was not a politician, a news story, or just a simple piece of municipal equipment. I was a flashlight into the soul of the city and I owed to myself, and everyone else to carry out my destiny.

Quietly I stood, at the corner of Brunswick and Third, and reveled in the light of my new illumination.

back to Contest #7