The Light

February, 2024

        Many people spent their nights sleeping with the lights out and curtains shut tight. It was far too dark to do much else. Dim candlelight and the pale moon didn't do much when all else was pitch black. There were few to no good light sources to use in the dark hours of the night, but for those who wished to stay up deep into the night, candlelight was just enough.

        At night, everything was quiet and peaceful. No one was awake to be a distracting disturbance, which made nighttime the perfect time to write.

        Harlow sat at her desk, which was crowded with papers, books, and burning candles. The candles didn’t produce much light, but they shed enough to suffice.

        The low lighting strained Harlow's eyes, which caused the words on the page to blur from her point of view. She was worn out by the busy day, which made her eyes and body feel more sleepy than it was before. She needed to be able to see to continue writing, but because there was no good light source, she couldn't.

~ ~ ~

February, 1878

        Thomas Edison sat at his desk, fiddling with the many tools set out before him. For weeks he had been experimenting with different materials and tools, attempting to create a light that could be used for indoor use, but one that didn't require oil or gas. Even though he had spent many hours on his experiment, he hadn't given up yet. There were countless possibilities that he still hadn't even thought of, and he wanted to try them all.

        Thomas sat back in his chair, staring at the small light that lay before him. It wasn't complete, and it didn't work, but it was something. It gave him an idea of what he wanted the real thing to look like. Though it didn't seem like much to anyone else, it was good enough for him.

        Thomas wouldn't be satisfied until he figured out the ways of his unfinished invention. There were still several other things he had to try before he decided what he would use for the contraption he would hopefully be able to one day patent. He knew that he could do it, but he also knew that it would take some time, which he was willing to spend.

        Ever since he was a young boy, Thomas knew that he wanted to do something great. While he had already done quite a few remarkable things with his life, he still wanted to do more. He wanted to change the world with his inventions. 

        Some might have thought that his dreams were impossible to achieve, but Thomas believed that he would reach them. He had to. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't. He didn't want to be just another person who wouldn't be remembered. He wanted people to know his name and know what he did. Even if it took a thousand inventions to get him to that point, he would make sure that it happened.

        Finally, Thomas got his head out of the clouds and put his mind back on his work; where it should have been for the last five minutes. He continued experimenting with different filaments and materials for the light, seeing which ones he would add to his ever-growing list of things that didn't work. Each experiment took quite a bit of time since Thomas had to see that the light would work for longer periods than most lights, which was quite time consuming. However, it would all be worth it in the end.

        After hours of relentless attempts, Thomas finally put away his things and went home, collapsing exhaustedly on his bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he fell asleep, dreaming about the day when his lightbulb would finally work.

~ ~ ~

October, 1931

        Thomas Edison laid flat on his bed, his eyes shut tight and his hands folded over his chest. He felt weak and weary from fighting the battle of his relentless diabetes complications. He was exhausted and longed for rest, though not an eternal sleep. He still felt as if he had so much to accomplish. While he had invented and patented several things, it felt like he was missing something. He cracked open an eye, gazing around the room for the answers that likely were not there. However, as his eyes fell upon an oil lamp, he recalled the only invention he had failed to complete. The lightbulb.

        "James?" Thomas called out sickly, sitting up slightly as he looked around for his faithful apprentice. "James?"

        "Yes, sir?" The young man hurried into the room, stopping beside his mentor's bed. James looked down at Thomas, whose skin was a pasty pale color. He looked very ill, and James doubted that Thomas had much time left. James wished his assumptions would be wrong, but he knew that was unlikely.

        "I... I never told about the invention," Thomas tried to begin, but his words came slowly and feebly. "The... the light."

        "The light? What light, sir?" James inquired, wondering what Thomas was referring to. He had never heard Thomas speak of a light in all his years of learning from him. James had been Thomas's apprentice for several years now, but he didn't know what Thomas meant by the light.

        "The light," Thomas repeated, stopping for a brief moment to cough painfully. "The paper... blueprint.... it is in my--" Another cough cut off Thomas's words, and this one sounded even more painful than the last. James' brows furrowed and his eyes were filled with concern as the man who had mentored and taught him for years. James had learned so much from Thomas, and he hated seeing him in so much excruciated, debilitating pain. 

        Before Thomas could continue his sentence, doctors crowded around him, helping him take sips of water and cooling his forehead with a wet cloth. But no matter what they tried, nothing helped. Thomas continued struggling, coughing and wincing and moaning until finally, he let go of his final breath.