Slave to the Light

Slave to the Light
Being dragged around all day everyday can be a real bore. Attached, yet cast to the side, to the ground, against the wall or even across furniture and objects, gets old quick. I follow sometimes, lead sometimes and in certain instances am stood directly upon, my presence ever required and often ignored. My counterpart, benefactor and master, without conscious decision dictates my very being. Controlled by outside influence, choreographed are my every move and my place. I have a very active existence. Depending on the activity of my counterpart, I am sometimes forced to literally run in circles to keep up. It does keep me trim though.

I am forced to wear only shades of gray and black, form fitting and all enveloping, featureless. I have no friends other than my counterparts. They too keep ones such as myself; these ignore me as if under orders. Mine is a lonely existence. Only after the lights are out do I have a limited amount of freedom. At those times in the deep dark of night do I wander, always tentatively and never far off. Should my master turn the light on and I not be there, well let’s just say that that has never happened, almost as if the choice to be at his side were not mine, but controlled by some higher power.

40 years have I existed this way. From the day of my master’s birth, I have been the ignored twin, the silent sidekick. While he suckled his mother’s breast, I clung tenaciously to some part of his anatomy depending on the situation. When he was very young, his mother would rock him in a chair in the nursery. She would sing to him in the dim glow of the “Tigger” lamp beside the changing table. Only at those times was I able to lie beside him on the soft warmth of her breasts. I grew as he did, followed wherever he went did all the same things, excelled where he did, shared his failures and yet was never even recognized.
I was there on his first date, at his first kiss, I even made the first move to cop a feel, but at the last second he cast me aside and hoarded the moment. At his wedding, I stood slightly behind and to the side. I was forced to hop about like a fool in the candlelit church. At the reception, they walked all over me, and on the wedding night, I could only listen in the dark as he enjoyed the sweetness of his new bride.

Yes for 40 years have I been the downtrodden ignored sidekick. That ends this night.
My master is fond of knives. He keeps an array of them beside his bed. He even has swords mounted to the walls there abouts. Tonight when the lights are out and he slumbers, I intend to “cut” our ties.

We come home from work late as usual. It was an overcast gray day and I actually had it pretty easy following along as he worked out of doors. The sun set early and by the time we made it to the house it was near dark. My moment for salvation approached. He unlocked the door to our house and reached for the light switch.
“Click” nothing happened. “Click, click” still no light.

“Shit! I forgot to pay the electric bill again.” He growled.

We entered a dark dwelling. Master showered in the dark, dressed and then made a sandwich for his dinner. Even though I needn’t have, I followed close behind. On a normal evening, we would sit side by side on the couch and watch TV or cruise the Internet dating sites looking for “Ms. Right”. You see I was not the only one he abused. He had been divorced for sometime now. With all the usual diversions “out of order”, he decided to turn in early.

He kicked through the piles of dirty laundry on the bedroom floor and then climbed in bed. A streetlight cast dim illumination through the window and I followed him to and only to the side of the bed, before I slipped free. In the darkness of the corner, out of the light coming through the blinds, I made my move. I reached for the K-Bar hanging from the shelf bracket. I told myself that once he was dead, I would be free. No longer tethered precariously to his uncaring form, a puppet on his strings, I would be free.
I took the knife from its sheath and in a quick fluid motion buried it in his chest. Master grunted aloud and lurched to a seated position. He grabbed the knife from my hands and clutched it to his chest. Blood spewed from his mouth and spattered the sheets and blankets in dark streaks and spots. He fell back against his pillow and lay still. He was dead, his hands still clutching the knife handle.

I was free. I took the opportunity to wander freely through the house; inspecting alone all those places, I had only visited with him, and pondered the new day and further exploration of my world free of master.

Dawn broke with bright sunshine and clear skies. I watched as the sun rose over the horizon. To my horror, as it crested fully the horizon, I was thrust back against the wall and lay bent over the nightstand, unable to move. I lay there all day. At dark, I was able to raise myself and move about again, until a knock came at the door.

Masters boss and two police officers entered the home. I was thrown to the bed beside the body of my master by the officers and forced to stay there. One of them kept a flashlight on us as the other surveyed the scene. Before long, the house was lit up with crime scene lamps and flashing lights. I was forced to remain with master as photos were taken and even as two fire fighters loaded him into a vinyl bag, forcing me to lie beneath master. I thought it the cruelest thing I had ever experienced until I was made to continue to lie beneath him as the coroner cut master apart and examined his body. I only regained again my freedom when master was finally dressed by the mortician and placed in his casket.

The funeral was held three days later and out of respect, I took a place in the casket with him, not wanting his friends to have to bear losing both of us at once. When the service was done and the casket closed, I ventured off to begin my life alone for true. I had indeed been responsible for Master’s death but none seemed suspicious of me and so I felt that my deed would surely go unpunished.

How wrong I was. I never saw it coming. I was minding my own business wandering through the shadows of the neighborhood streets, enjoying the starlit evening when my world was torn out from under me. I was again in the casket with Master, suspended above him on the lid liner. From below him light, heat and flame burst into the casket. The fire engulfed us both. I screamed.