I was exploring the arts and crafts section of the store, when I saw it. Sitting there, alone among papers and pencils, as if someone was going to take it but traded it out for a 16 pack of crayons. She was plastic, and looked a little worn. It was something that plugged into the wall directly, and attached, was a figure that was made to look like a beautiful angel. She held a torch, and that was where the light came from. There was an outlet near, I tested it out and the glow she emitted was so entrancing I could get lost in the shine for hours.
I was taken out of the hypnotic state by my dad, who had been looking for me. He grabbed me roughly by the collar with his nicotine stained fingers and hurried me to the checkout counter, but not before I quickly snatched it from the wall outlet. I knew my dad wouldn’t allow me to take it so I hid her in my jacket pocket. I knew once we got home it wouldn’t be an issue since he hardly comes in my room anyways.
We came back to a piercingly silent home and I ran to my room. I plugged it into the wall that was across from where my bed was. I lied down to admire it, only to be disrupted by the sound of my dad arguing with what seemed like himself. I guess since now that there’s no one else around, I should just be glad it isn’t me. I tried to focus on the glow but couldn’t escape the sound of his cries of anger and pain. I took the comforter and pillow off of my bed and hunkered down on the opposite side of the room. I was in the glow, it was more captivating than before. Nothing and nobody else was as important as her.
I took her everywhere. Sleepovers, overnight trips, college, even the hospital, when my dad was on his deathbed. Lung cancer. The longest conversation we had since mom died was on that day. I was very young when it happened, so I didn’t know a lot of the details surrounding her death. I didn’t even go to the funeral. He told me she had committed suicide and left a note. I asked why, already knowing the answer. My dad has always been difficult to live with. He told me the location of her grave, which I had deliberately put off asking.
I plugged her into the outlet in the hospital room. He was already gone. I stared at the protective beam of light that held me together in that moment, and thought about what I was going to do next. The drive wasn’t too long. A little more than 30 minutes. It was a nice day, weather wise. I saw the stone. It was a beautiful plaque, a little worn, though. As I looked at what was left of my mom I held her tight in my hand. The light wasn’t there for me to escape into. I had to face this. I started talking through my sobbing, unsure if I was talking to myself or mom.
I left the cemetery, unsure of what I had accomplished by going. I got home and went to plug her in. But after a couple seconds the light started to flicker, and eventually, didn’t turn back on.
Hello, glad to be back again. Hope you liked this story. I think it's one of my best ones in a while. Took a break from some of the larger scale things I was working on to make this. Had a lot of fun playing around with the symbolism. Hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for reading.
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