The Myth of Wile E

Ghost

I found my old flashlight in the hall closet, between a box of Dougie's treasured possessions and a box of Mama's memoirs, buried under a pile of cidery crab apples that had begun to spawn gnats.

Eagerly I clicked the flashlight on. Alas, the flashlight beam was a mere ghost of its former self. After about a minute the light would fade away to a faint halo, and I had to keep shaking it back to life, pleading "don't you dare quit on me!" and "fight, dammit, fight!" That technique had often brought people back from the brink of death in soap operas and war movies. And it's true that each time I shook the flashlight the beam would revive a little, but each time it also came back weaker. Clearly it just wanted to put its affairs in order and be left in peace. The light was ready to cross over to wherever light goes when light dies.