((Read Part 1 here: http://insaniacjournal.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-lightside-enigma.html))
When it comes to sequels, between the stories, storybook heroes are given time to themselves.
Storybook villains are dramatically left behind, yet are remembered.
And storybook victims are forgotten.
Mother Wire. Shade. Bulb.
This team was not granted an epic conclusion or honourable exit from our world. They were last known as 'discarded', which rapidly changed to 'vanished'.
True storybook victims.
So what happens when, not the heroes, but the victims get a sequel?
Read on...
Gods can be unworthy mortals in delusional disguises; just as those that seem unworthy throughout existence can just as easily hold unique powers.
Street Cleaners are precisely these kind of 'forgettable gods'. Their lives are an endless arcade of choosing and deciding the fate of lost possession. Indeed, they are the ones holding the scales of balance between one's trash, and one's treasure.
Readers of a nervous, sympathetic or simply odd disposition may be disheartened to learn that our Lightside team were deemed 'Junk'.
The trio spent so much time getting to know Rain and Road on that fateful day; only to become most intimately acquainted with Black Plastic Bag.
Black Plastic Bag, slave and worshipper of the Street Cleaner proclamations, played their own, large part in the disappearance of the three victims. Indeed, he took them from Rain and escorted them to the body of mighty Truck - the formidable vessel of Street Cleaner travel.
It was this Vehicle of Ages that helped move our trio to the great haven of Street Cleaner control: The Dump.
This is where our story truly begins.
The Truck vessel was not exactly merciful. By the time our trio came to rest - after having been dropped out by Truck, no less - damage had been done.
Shade's style was fractured, crumpled and bent; Mother Wire was knotted and Bulb, previously cracked, had smashed altogether.
Shade covered and comforted as best he could. Mother Wire constantly grumbled about her new knot, and her exposed filaments.
A demi-god, a Dump Operative, was there first to discover and move the three. This monster of rubbish consideration took them to rest beneath an aged sign reading "Electricals".
Bulb and Shade offered their prayers to any fragments of themselves left behind.
They too offered prayers to all discarded and forgotten entities surrounding them.
Many ignored. These: the filthy, the aged, the rusted, better known as the Long Gone. These veterans of time and decay had no time for new arrivals. To be forgotten, it does end one's courtesy and optimism.
Only the friendly Recents replied, and of them, there were few.
One particular Recent, just inches away from the heroes, went by the name of Desk Lamp. He saw the destruction of Bulb, and sympathised.
Bulb saw an intact version of himself within the jaws of Desk Lamp's head, and remained silent.
Shade, however, was quite overcome. His own material paled (and actually had, in places) into insignificance when studying the metals of Desk Lamp.
Mother Wire stayed silent as well. Desk Lamp's own, unknotted wire was nothing short of an insult.
Desk Lamp offered further condolences to Bulb, and attempted some form of reconciliation.
As it happened, Desk Lamp's Bulb had died, quite suddenly in fact. Desk Lamp had been quite shocked (Author Note: No pun intended) at the time, but utterly appalled by their owner's reaction. No remorse, or signs of pity.
Nothing but purest anger, simple and selfish.
And Desk Lamp had suffered, greatly, and without reason. The same, Bulb-hating owner had forgotten what kind of replacement they would need. Along with that, they had also forgotten where they had put the instruction manual and even the necessary screwdriver needed to access the passed Bulb and begin the funeral process.
The owner's anger, forgetfulness and laziness led to Desk Lamp's relocation to the sacred grounds of the Rubbish People.
"Bitterness" would only be the tip of a lemon and lime iceberg to describe the inner workings of Desk Lamp's mind.
Bulb broken his silence, and quietly offered words of compassion and pity. Life in a broken state now seemed just a bit easier to bear.
Shade's rain-coated surface conveniently matched his emotional state at the time.
Mother Wire mumbled something about an unknotted wire and returned to her musings.
The remainder of the day progressed quietly. Desk Lamp informed the three about the haphazard ways of life a top a desk; while Shade and Bulb regaled him with times of Ceiling Life.
Desk Lamp was on the cusp of expressing envy, until he heard the story of the drunken antics that lead to the trio's predicament, and instead offered kind words.
That night, the three looked forward to getting some sleep. Their old, reckless owners, constant in leaving Bulb alight, never cared that sleep avoided the trio in their night world of heat, light and exhaustion.
Maybe now, with Power nowhere around and Bulb broken, sleep could be theirs.
But when the Gods of Rubbish Moderation left for the night, the sacred grounds of The Dump truly came to life.
The Lament of the Abandoned began.
Microwaves cried of meals they longed to cook. Fridges wailed of no longer being cool. Obsolete games consoles constantly wept, crying that they had tried their best.
Every piece of lost, broken or forgotten possession wailed into the night, into a swirling echo of anger, sadness or regret.
Just minutes after the cacophony of emotion, Bulb, Shade and Mother Wire all joined in.
Morning returned as it should always do so, its light shining down on the returning Gods, demi-gods and their fleets of vessels. The inhabitants of the holy ground fell silent once more.
But this particular silence was different.
There are silences for tension, for disbelief, for dramatic effect and for respect. And all of them differ from the other, in length, noticeability or from what follows.
Much like the Silence of Waiting. That is what fell upon The Dump that morning.
For the dawn light brought with it something that most, if not all, would deem a 'Sunday'. And that particular week-ending Day brought with it..."Them".
The Collectors, the Scavengers, the Otherwise Furnished, the Low Incomes and the Aged.
(Basically, anyone who can visit a dump and end up leaving with more stuff than they arrived with.)
So it came to happen, a short time later, a seventy two years old, ex-electrician named Arthur found the trio, in a nest of other discarded goods.
The three were lifted up by Mother Wire - much to her distaste, of course - to be inspected.
As the three were twirled and spun in the air, Arthur said words like "not bad condition", "pretty easy to fix" and "could be a nice challenge."
The three were over-joyed. A chance to return, to bring light to the world of darkness once more.
But Life is not that kind. It hasn't lead Existence by the neck for billions of years by niceness and compassion alone. Every now and then, it has a little dig.
(And nor, for the record, are ex-electricians that naïve.)
"Bulb will need changing, though," said Arthur.
Death sentences don't usually come in a variety of different ways, so Bulb could have taken some kind of delight at being uniquely 'sentenced'.
But he was too occupied, with feeling like the world was dropping away beneath him, which then felt like nothing compared to Arthur's fingertips pressing down on him.
Mother Wire, still outraged at this kind of treatment, was a little too busy complaining to obstruct Bulb's exit.
Shade could feel a yell of despair building, that was never to be released.
Bulb twisted, unwillingly, and fell.
Eternity stretched out before him; the true meanings behind "On" and "Off" finally made sense.
He landed, not gracefully nor silently, next to Desk Lamp. And departed.
As did Arthur, although not from Life, more simply from The Dump, swinging the trio-down-to-duo along with him.
Shade didn't even get a chance to look back, one last time.
*
There remains little to tell. Or rather, anything else told would more than likely loop back again to a similar construct of beginning-middle-and-end.
The sort of thing does happen a hell of a lot.
And sometimes, all it takes is a little moment, like seeing a wire-shade-bulb trio lying in a rainy gutter, to actually realise the true balance of things. These are the joys of Random Perspective.
Always keep your eyes open. And only look back if you really have to.
***
Author Note: Generally, it is an odd moment when something random happens in life and you attempt to write about it.
But today, I learn that it is even stranger to then sequel such an event, with nothing to draw inspiration from. Randomness, from thin air. The odd, empty spots in the back of your brain.
But, I enjoyed the challenge. Once again, I must thank Chelsea for suggesting a sequel in the first place. As she's my main audience, I can only pray that she enjoys this.
Hi Chelsea! Again!
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