[Destitute Genius]
With a dash of cunning!Electric Light
2007-05-09
I first wrote this story a year ago, and it really was the first short story I wrote. Since then, it has gone under some hafty editing, including some tonight before I posted it. It isn't perfect, and despite all my efforts some terrible and very dreadful typos and/or errors will shine like beacons in the night, they only hide from me in the editing process, so please be kind in that regard. They always slip in there. I'll maintain editing on the post as I notice them (or as they are pointed out). Please, enjoy. If any of you recognize the allusion in this sordid tale, you'll be my best friend for life. Cheers.
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The Electric Light
The blue aura of the electric light pulsed from behind its wire cage on the wall of the tiny apartment, casting a dull glow into the mirror of a worn vanity. Staring out of the mirror was the reflection of a sallow face, its green eyes sunken into bruised pillows. Faded red hair hung from the sides of the face like a ragged curtain. Slender ivory hands with nicotine stains played with these drapes, attempting to make them useful once more, to no avail. Lorelai sighed as her hand reached for her brush to smooth out her hair. He liked her hair down anyway and she lived to please him. Parting her hair down the middle, she began with the rigorous task of brushing each side a hundred times, with swift accurate strokes.
It was Friday night, the night John usually came to visit her. She was expecting him tonight, even though he still had yet to call to confirm. Her chapped lips curved into a smile, revealing crooked teeth that the blue light made a shade of sickly yellow. John was the best man she had known in all her life. Tall, handsome, he was perfect in every way and better then any of her numerous past relationships. John was a very important man in New York City, at least this is what he told her but she never watched the news to find out. His position allowed her to live in what she thought was a state of luxury. He paid her rent, utilities, and anything she could want - or need. John pulled her out of her wretched past and made her a future. He had made clear to her numerous times that there was no way to repay him. She grimaced as she thought of breaking today's news to him. Her stomach turned at the very thought of his reaction. She wasn't sure if it was nausea or the ‘news' itself.
Lorelai set down the brush and tried to open the top drawer of the vanity. The wheel of the drawer squealed in defiance, refusing to work properly. The electric light flickered in tune with the drawer's resistant groans. Lorelai pulled on the handle harder, the drawer always came loose on the second try. John was always telling her he'd buy her a new vanity, but she refused to part with the one she had. She bought it at a thrift store, along with the electric light, at a time when she really had no money to be purchasing anything that was considered property. Both items had been with her as long as she could remember. They were an integral part of her very being. John couldn't understand her attachment to them, but she never expected him to. There was so much John didn't understand.
Lorelai rummaged through the opened drawer, searching for her lipstick. Pulling out her blush and powder along the way, her hand continued to search absent-mindedly. Even though she had gone through this process almost every night of her adult life, she refused to have any organizational method. Not only did that require too much forethought, it also would force her to accept that she was a wreck. She felt the elusive tube of lipstick under her hand and grabbed it victoriously. She opened the powder case and began to whiten her face, hoping it would fill the wrinkles that had begun to crease her once perfect face. Her eyes glanced between her reflection and a tattered photograph tucked in the corner of the mirror. She had found the photo in a discarded, ancient magazine. Not even pausing to take a second glance, she had decided at that moment that was how she ought to look. The caption under the photo told her that her ideal model of perfection was named Grace Kelly. She had never heard of Grace Kelly before and had yet to see a movie with her in it, but she thought she was so pristine, and had class. She later read somewhere that Grace Kelly had fallen in love with a very powerful man and was a princess or something like it now. Lorelai wanted all of what she had, an immaculate appearance, the fairytale life, the effortless grace she just exuded from one photograph. She wanted to be Grace Kelly.
She set down the poof and tediously began to apply her blush. She could be Grace Kelly if John would finally propose to her, like he always promised. He incessantly talked of leaving his wretched wife, to help Lorelai discover a world of luxury she never thought existed. The electric light began to flicker behind its metal cage, casting it light with tired perseverance. She picked up the tube of lipstick, blood red, her favorite shade. As she twisted the bottom her mind returned to the problem with John. He always told her that a child would only complicate matters and that she was never to get pregnant. He had made that crystal clear to her. She had been pregnant before, many times in fact, but she remained childless. She had never wanted one, until now. She decided to keep it after her visit to the Doctor today, she found she was already three months in, and it was almost too late to rid her womb of it. Not it, she corrected herself. Phoebe. Lorelai knew it was a girl, and named it Phoebe, a name she had always loved. Once it was given a name, it was given life. She knew that John would love Phoebe as much as she. Phoebe was the ultimate symbol of their love, and she was proud to bear her.
The blue light turned off completely and darkness covered the apartment. The phone rang its shrill call like that of a lone Siren in the night. She took a deep breathe before answering the telephone's summon.
"Hello?" she quavered into the receiver.
"Hey baby." It was John. "I'll be there in an hour."
Lorelai pressed her back against the chair. She took the dive.
"Good, we have something we need to talk about."
An unbearable pause.
"Yes we do...Lorelai." He purred her name like a lion on the hunt, his voice reiterating a fierce threat. "Dr. Sibanos called me after you left his office today, he told me it was a very....fruitful visit."
Of course the Doctor would have called him; he was one of John's old friends. She bit her lower lip, how foolish to think she'd be the one to tell him the news; she clamped her free hand on the armrest of the chair, digging her nails into the soft wood.
"Yes...it was." She managed to stammer.
"Well, before you can come up with a defense, I know it's not mine."
"She" Lorelai corrected.
"What?" stammered John, his voice dripping with abrasive confusion.
"Her name is Phoebe, and she is ours."
John dropped all attempts at his weak façade, he was now shouting at her.
"You told me I was the only one Lorelai, I have paid and given you more then ten of your...clients ever could at one time. How could you do this to me?"
Hot black tears streamed down her face, destroying the last two hours work like acid rain.
"I stopped that John. I promised I..."
He halted her, "I'll be there soon."
A click, then silence.
The ticking of the black clock reminded Lorelai of every minute John was late. Three hours to be exact. The electric light turned back on and startled her; she had never noticed the pitch black darkness after the phone call, she hadn't even tried to move from the chair. The photo of Grace Kelly smiled from the corner of the mirror, her seamless beauty refusing to falter. Lorelai picked up a handkerchief from the top of the vanity and began to wipe her face. She had no idea how much time she had to prepare herself. A sharp knock at the door startled her and she jumped in her seat. John must be angry with her, he always let himself in. The knock continued, this time louder. She rose and walked to the door, her tiny hands fluttering to unlock the deadbolt and turn the knobs. She opened the door to find a large, bald man in a large black coat. This wasn't John.
"Lorelai Kelly?" He asked in a voice as rigid as raw ore.
She frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't take calls anymore."
The man flashed a smile, revealing a set of gold teeth that shook her with a wave of unease.
"Are we done? I'm expecting someone at the..."
His response shattered her eardrums and womb, harmonizing with the silent scream of her unborn child. She fell to the ground and felt Phoebe shift one final time. The pool of blood that matched her lipstick glistened in the blue light, staining the white carpet. Her eyes, now listless, sunk into their deep purple pillows one last time. The electric light, the solitary witness, flickered off for a brief second, then back on. A minute passed and its azure glow ceased permanently.
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