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Five Lights
By
Louise Norlie, Apr 04, 2009
There are exactly five lights. I had the key to shut them off, but I held it towards the lights until it turned a
glowing maroon and melted into useless putty.
I am no longer embarrassed by how I appear under the five lights. I am no longer afraid to speak to large
audiences although when I open my mouth the light comes in and I lose the small dark pocket hidden beneath my
nose. Of late I’ve remained silent.
Occasionally I lean over and curl myself into a ball where no light can enter. I try to create smaller, more
intense spots of shade but I am porous, a strainer of light. A billion rays burrow mazes within me.
If I hold my arm still for a while and then move it, I find a third arm. Its fingers convey a trace of hostility
but it is useful for scratching and temporary shade. If I stand in the same place long enough I feel bloated, as
if something inside is fighting its way out. When I step aside there is a perfect, albeit dim, double left
behind. With practice I see myself floating in duplicate and triplicate.
I experiment with the duplications. I teach them to hold their hands like visors above their eyes. They look like
soldiers and their eyes shine gold like possessed hyenas. Eventually the doubles recognize me and wave
enthusiastically until they fade under the intensity of the light.
Often as they’re just about to vanish they chase me trying to merge back to where they began. If a certain number
of them do this together I may see my shadow again but I am in no hurry to lose my autonomy. And while this is
happening I start to wonder if I am a double, seen from the other side, fading. I try not to think about this for
long. The thought will float, escape me.
Louise Norlie’s publications have appeared in Mad Hatter’s Review, Sein und Werden, Unlikely Stories,
Behind the Wainscot, and more. Her writing has been anthologized by Dead Letter Press and Bettany Press. Visit
her apathetically maintained blog at louise-norlie.blogspot.com.
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