The Dancing Lights

Off. On. Off. On.

The flickering lights were a daily thing now. At odd times of the night, when night would blanket the buildings, the whole neighborhood would go to sleep, leaving nothing but the streetlights on; the lights from that particular window of the apartment would begin their dance as if calling out to the stars, as if it was some kind of signal. Over the last few days I’ve noticed the flickering follows a pattern and wasn’t just a random play with the light switch someone was up to.

My patience is not something I’m very proud of and off I went the very next day to investigate the mysterious dancing lights. Oddly enough, the building looked strange in the day time. Either the sunlight was playing with my eyes or my eyes were missing the comforting starlight in which I could easily tell which window blinked at me and which one was heightening my curiosity so much that I stayed awake during nights in spite of getting caught by that nasty boss for sleeping at work.

Loitering around the building a few more minutes, I decided to scoot off before the watchman concluded that I was planning to burgle there later on.

Off. On. Off. On.

There it was, again. I had to do something this time. It was pointless to go stalking blinking lights at midnight. My parents would confirm their worst fears that their only son had gone cuckoo. There was only one thing I could possibly do – try and get her attention all the while assuming that it was a girl who was doing this.

Off. On. Off. On.

I followed suit and waited to see if my signals had been noticed and whether there would be any response.

Off. On. Off. On. Off. On.

Three times. It wasn’t the normal practice. Usually there were only two repetitions and then it would be total darkness. Does that mean she saw my signal? My heart was beating somewhere in my throat and my curiosity knew no bounds.

I decided to signal again, impatient to see if there would be another set of the dancing lights.

Off. On.

Off. On. Off.

That was the final straw. I needed to know what was happening and who was behind these dancing lights that were giving me sleepless nights. The  mystery girl who romanced the light switch had begun to occupy a special corner in my heart. It was impossible for me to sneak out of the house without waking mum. I would have to wait for few more days… till it was Saturday when I could go out late at night without my family raising their eyebrows at me.

Hoping that it would definitely be a ‘she’ who would probably have a sad heart breaking tale of a broken family or some other tragic personal tale that she would share with me tickled the writer in me as I turned over and closed my eyes.

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Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

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7 thoughts on “The Dancing Lights

  1. Okay, i just have to tell you – YOU are a bright, fascinating and lovely LIGHT to all of us – who make a point to read your work.

    You have an imagination that engages us – and, you have developed your craft of communication that keeps us alive with anticipation and wonder . . .

    Thank You!!!!

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