Lebel

The street is dark. Well past bedtime for most humans. But the lamp post waits. It knows she’s going to walk past soon. Any minute now.

Its power cable is frayed and it’s painful for it to try and force the electricity through its maimed wiring, but it tries. It flickers, refusing to go out completely, knowing that it won’t be able to turn on again once it goes black, but unable to spend all its energy now, saving that for later. It sputters in limbo, just waiting.

Then it senses footsteps. Her timed pace to whatever music is playing on her iPod, walking quickly with her head down. When she sneaks a look up at the stars, her face shines pale as the invisible moonlight. Her expression is neither happy nor sad. It’s blank. Tired. Wearied.

The lamp post wants to make this walk better for her, as she braces her neck against the cold coughs of wind tearing against the bared areas of her skin. It focuses all its power on filtering the electricity through the faulty wiring.

It flickers more violently as she approaches (she raises an eyebrow as she looks up at the display, unsure of what’s going on). With a final force of energy, the lamp post manages to shine – fully, brilliantly, infinitely – just as she walks underneath. It glows and beams and bites against the biting gusts and dark corners of the street. It is a sun in the inky black.

And as it comes on, she looks up at it, briefly. And she smiles. She shakes her head, not knowing why this always happens, every night no matter what time, no matter if she’s walking or catching a lift home. She sighs a misty exhale, no doubt dubbing it a mystery.

Her path directly beneath the lamp post ends rather quickly, and she turns onto a side street. When she’s out of view, it lets go. Goes black for good. Or at least, until tomorrow night when she walks by again. Because every night, it longs to see that smile of hers one more time. Even if it hurts trying to make it happen.