Jittery Lights

I walk in and out.

I walk in and out.

I walk in and then out, and every time I have to switch the light off. Because, for some reason, it keeps switching back in.

“Click.” There, the light is now off. I walk out.

The home I live in is an unconventionally big one in the city. It occupies the whole floor, the elevator opens directly into the living room. This is a home left away from some childless grand-aunt. It is a pretty large home. The living room is a massive open area, the flatscreen television is on. I’m sitting on the couch. The sounds from tv are comforting. I’m sitting on the couch, but I’m not really looking at the tv.

There it is again. I can’t believe it. The lights, the goddamn lights are on again. I jump out from the couch, and spend the next five minutes walking to the room. The tubelight pretty much blared out light. The bedroom was filled with dead flowers and the table next to lamp had a picture of my late grand-aunt. This room was where she breathed her last.

This time I just down switch the light off, I slam the switch with the palm of my hand. The sound of the television from outside was comforting. I hated leaving the lights on. It is a waste of electricity, I barely manage to keep up to the bills of this place.

I stomp back to the living room and sit down on the couch. This place had about five bedrooms scattered about. And there it was again. The damn light was on again. What do I do? What do I do to fix this damn problem? I grab the hammer, walk to the room, raise the hammer and bring it down. Plastic is weak and pathetic. The plastic switch was crushed. There we go, this won’t be troubling me again.

This time I really feel it, nothing is going to come between the tv and me. And nothing does, except something flickering from my peripheral vision. I look and there it is. The light. on. again.

First I think of tearing off my hair, then I decide against it and then I picked up the hammer again and go back to the room. I really don’t care if this room was the one where my grand-aunt breathed her last.

I stretch my hand out as much as I can and then I just break the damn tubelight.

I’m sitting back on the couch. Of course, I don’t feel the ghost's hand throttling me. I only see my grand-aunt when I leave my body. Weird right? Damn that light.

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Waiting for a Mother

I watched her. There is without a doubt that she is the most beautiful person in the world. I wasn’t one for pick up lines, but looks like God lost one of his angels. She was dressed in a white gown, it was a simple one, not like those exquisite ones, just a simple one, and you know what, simple is good.

She looked even beautiful when she was nervous. She was the love of my life and we were getting married. A little perspiration on her forehead, the biting of her lip and those deep furrows. “Where is she?” My angel asked with a tinge of anger in her voice.

“I don’t know sis.” Her sister replied.

I looked around. It would be stupid to say that I was not nervous or angry. How can her mother do this on our wedding day? The clock on my watch ticked closer to 8:30. People have been sitting for the last hour. Waiting. Waiting for the wedding to start. We can’t start the wedding march without her mother.

“How can she do this to me! Call her!” My angel yelped out.

“I tried”, the sister waved the phone in the air, “She’s not picking up the call. She was with me in the church, I don’t know why she would do this.”

My angel tried to maintain her composure. People were looking, people were waiting.

“She’ll be here”, I tried to interject into the sister-sister conversation.

“Really, really! Where is she? How can she do this me TODAY!”

I inch closer and take her hand in mind and then I just squeeze lightly. She squeezes back.

Then, we just wait.

“She’ll be here. She’ll be here. She won’t miss your day. Don’t worry about the people, they can wait.” I whisper in her ear.

She nods. A grim kind of nod.

We waited. My angel’s mother never did come for our wedding reception.

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