The boy was standing beside his last lamp, having just lit it moments before. His mouth fell open as he saw the darkened final lantern.
The Lamplighter fell to his knees, fingers fluttering as the the rod rolled from his grasp. His cheeks burned. His eyes stung. His face blanched. His tears began falling.
The boy stepped to his side lightly, still holding his lighting stick. He bit his lower lip.
The Lamplighter lifted his chin to find the boy lighting the last lamp.
“It's too late, lad,” He croaked.
The boy turned to him and smiled, holding the rod in both hands. He set his heels together, standing straight.
“You two did marvelous work tonight,” The Stranger's voice said. The Lamplighter twisted about to see the still-dark shape standing in the middle of the road.
“But it weren't good enough. We failed by a hair's breadth.” The Lamplighter held up a hand, pinching the air between his index finger and thumb. “Just a hair's breadth.”
The Stranger clasped his hands in front of him.
“There's always tomorrow,” He said. And for the first time, The Lamplighter could catch a glimpse of the face under the hood. It was a sight he could never forget.
And for the first time in years, purple began to blend with the blues, browns, and blacks of the night.
The Lamplighter blinked in surprise, turning his face upwards. The stars were fading. He looked at The Stranger again. He was but a dark shape once again, but this time it was from the hues of fuchsia and indigo that were quickly overtaking the sky.
The shadows were being chased out of sight as they had not been in far too long as the milky dawn claimed the heavens.
And just above the horizon, the first golden rays of sun were lancing through.
The Lamplighter stared.
“W...what is this?” He murmured. His body began to shake. Tears began to flow faster. “We failed. You know that we failed.” He clenched his fists tight. His voice was tighter. “What is this?”
The Stranger shook his head slowly. “You failed, yes, but you sacrificed so much.”
He lifted a hand towards the last lamppost. The Lamplighter's gaze followed.
Standing beneath the last post was the boy. And The Lamplighter could see right through him.
The boy grinned, but his eyes were glassy. “I told you, when the town wakes up, they stop dreaming. And what is a dream in the daylight?” He lifted a translucent hand, looking through it to the light on the edge of sight.
The Lamplighter turned to The Stranger.
“He knew what would happen when the sun rose again. But he helped you regardless. And for that, your efforts would not be in vain.” The Stranger's smile appeared faintly. “Even if your failure hadn't been as near to success.”
The boy walked to the Lamplighter and offered him a hand. The old man took it tentatively. To his surprise, it was still solid to the touch.
Once the man was on his feet, the boy stepped back and gave him a bright grin. “My name is Arlo Hazelwood. And I'm glad people can finally stop dreaming the night away. What is a dream if you don't pursue it?”
The Lamplighter tried his best to return the smile, though it was thin, much like his voice as he murmured, “And my name is Kian.”
Arlo continued stepping back. The further back he went, the lighter he became. In a moment, it was as though every fiber of his being was made of silver—and every bit of silver sparkled. He was radiant.
And in another moment he was gone.
The Lamplighter blinked. He blinked as though Arlo would suddenly reappear before him.
He did not.
The Lamplighter slowly turned to stand and face the rising sun. Anyone could have told you that staring at the sun is a bad idea. But Kian didn't care. He felt the warmth fading from within, so he wanted to absorb all he could from without.
He breathed in the air, tasting the brightness that had been missing from it for so long. His eyes drifted shut as he inhaled deeply.
A sudden gust of wind against the side of his face snapped him out of his trance. The flutter of feathers and wings. Another thing he had sorely missed.
Kian turned around. Sitting atop the last lamppost was a sparrow. It was preening itself daintily, but paused to look at him for a moment. It chirruped loudly, then leaped into flight once again.
The streets were alive with morning. And it was beautiful.
♦ ♦ ♦
For the first time in years, children were running the streets without a worry. Parents didn't hover behind fretfully, lest their child go missing in the dark. Every person Kian laid eyes on was content.
He felt the same, but only on the surface. Inside he felt an ache.
He eased himself down onto a metal bench. He leaned onto the arm of the seat, noting how hard it was.
A moment later he rested his arm on his thigh instead.
The air felt lighter. Perhaps it was the aroma of the gardens, which had finally sprung back to life. Or perhaps it was truly that it was filled with the sun. Regardless, The Lamplighter found it pleasant. But despite that he frowned.
He was tired. And after last night's work, he was long overdue for rest.
Old bones creaked as he rose, quietly protesting his activity. He winced. He was unfortunately accustomed to it.
Though he was looking forward to sleep, he walked home slowly. He decided to take the long way home, even.
The very long way home.
Kian hobbled over the cobblestone, absorbing every crack, missing chink, and repaired piece underfoot. He sighed.
Leaning heavily on his lighting rod, he stopped beneath the clock tower in the center of town. The mixed red and brown bricks of its outer walls made a handsome contrast against the primarily gray townhouses. The stark white and black clock face made a statement all its own—one that read clearly to The Lamplighter.
For the first time he strode to the heavy wooden door in the side of the tower. He didn't enter. Instead, he turned to the small bronze plaque that was fixed in the wall. It had tarnished much with age, and it was nearly unreadable.
He removed a thick glove and ran his fingers across the raised letters. Many had been chipped or worn off. He was able to guess it well enough regardless.
A smile cracked over his face.
“Hazelwood, indeed,” He chuckled, pulling his glove back on and stepping away.
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