The Light, Kate Dickinson ’23

Kate Dickinson ’23

The Light

Jener sat in front of the caged light, waiting for it to blink, beep, do something. “Your meal.”

He took it, not taking his eyes off the light even as he ate.

It had been years since he looked at anything else, but he didn’t know that. If he had to guess, he would have said a month. Three, at most.

He was always scared of blinking. Blinking meant he might miss something, which meant—

He didn’t know what would happen if he missed something. He didn’t want to find out.

It was a fairly simple job. Watch the light, listen for sounds. If anything happens, hit the button. He had seen the button, once, when he was first brought in. It was big and red, he thought. Though that might have been because the light was big and red. He was pretty sure the button wasn’t caged. That would make it difficult to press.

He carefully placed his tray on the floor next to him. If he just dropped it, the clatter might drown out any sound that could indicate the button needed pressing.

He made sure not to take his eyes off the light.

His meals had been coming less and less frequently, but he thought he was just tired. It had been a while since he had slept. That’s where the thought stopped. He didn’t think about or remember that he hadn’t slept since he first saw the light.

There were drugs in his food. They kept him awake, made sure he didn’t think too hard about the wrong things. He didn’t know this of course. Maybe he would have figured it out if the drugs hadn’t addled his brain beyond recognition. He had been clever once before. That’s why they chose him for the light. He would know the signal, know when to push the button.

The light was his life, his purpose. Maybe he would get an award once he pushed the button, starting—preventing—

He didn’t know. But the train of thought slipped out of his mind almost as soon as he probed it, so it didn’t bother him for very long.

Days passed. No meals showed up. He started to get hungry for the first time in years. He wondered if there were rations in the room—but no. He couldn’t look for them; he might miss the signal. The signal was more important than his hunger. Besides, his next meal would come soon. He was sure.

He almost fell asleep. He shook himself awake just in time, but he panicked. What if he would have missed the light? And if he had almost fallen asleep once, it would surely happen again. And what if he fell asleep? And what if he missed the signal?

He tried to calm himself. Surely, if there were a sound it would be loud enough to wake him up, and the light would be so bright it would too. He was sure. He was sure.

The door slammed open just as he was about to sleep for the first time in seven years. He knew it had been years now. He startled, nearly taking his eyes off the light.

A man walked in front of him. A person. The first one he had seen in seven years. Before, he would have thought him average. But now? But now? He was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

The man held a screwdriver and took the cage off the light. Jener perked up. Was this it? Was it his time?

The man placed the cage gently down. Jener nodded absently. Yes, in case there was a sound. He was a smart man.

The man looked at the light for a few seconds, then slammed the handle of the tool into it, shattering the bulb.

Jener shouted, diving to pick up the shards. He wasn’t careful, and he didn’t have the calluses he used to have, so his hands bled. He screamed, trying to say “Why?” But his vocal cords were practically gone, having wasted away in his throat all those years. They finally snapped, cutting off his scream. He sobbed, silently.

The man left without a word of explanation, shutting the door behind him.

He sobbed. He became lightheaded. The last thing he saw before his final sleep was a room containing only a chair, an empty tray, a small cage, and a broken light.