by doung jai
The light box instructions say that the bulbs burn out faster with constant usage. But its powers are healing, especially when winter’s dreariness seeps into my mind and whispers of terrible deeds I should perform.
Two hours of staring at this light, yet darkness holds tight to my soul.
Last night, the neighbor’s dog wouldn’t stop yapping. Something had to be done. Now the kid’s outside crying, searching for a dog he’ll never find.
The light box flickers. Darkness seduces me again. The boy, it says. Take him out.
It’s only January. I’m going to need more light bulbs.
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