Drabble prompt:

light

Make of that what you will, and post them!

The sunrise is still tinting the sky when he calls his children into the kitchen. He takes out a bowl and starts mixing things into it, For waffle batter, though the kids don't know it yet. They just think his doing in anything in a kitchen is enough to pay attention to.He mixes in an egg and checks his work. Satisfied, he says, "Your mother likes those toaster ones," he tells his daughter, who watches everything. "but we know better." His kids have never had a waffle that didn't come out of a toaster while their mother gets ready to go to an office. They know they like syrup and the way the toaster sounds when they pop up. It was the man's own mother that was the cook with the little touches, that, even though he hasn't lived in her house for fifteen years, he still misses.Maybe that is what he is thinking of when he brings the finished product to the table and says "See? Light and fluffy."

My first memory is light. I'm staring at a window with the blind pulled down and bright light around the edges. I'm two. The rest of the family has gone to the New York World's Fair and I'm staying with Grandma and Grandpa. I'm supposed to be napping, but the dazzling light around the edges of the dark space enthralls me.

“Light ‘em if you got ‘em!”

The call rings out across the arena, and the crowd roars in response. I’m twenty-two, it’s Lollapooloza and I’m currently clad in only a red bra and jean shorts. It’s 100 degrees today, and I’ve cast modesty to the wind...but not the SPF. I’m not that far gone.

But this is my first really big concert, and I’m high: high on the music, high on my own feeling of “I can take on the world in only my bra,” high on the fact that I just saw Perry Ferrell stroll by.

I’m also just plain high.

(so thrilled to be doing these again, yeah, yeah, nothing was stopping me, but, hey)

(I know, Connie! But it's so much more fun to do it as part of a community effort. It's good to see what everyone comes up with. I went with my first thought, but I might play with a different take later.)

The hand holding the lighter shakes with cold. I roll my thumb over the strike wheel until I can feel the pad begin to bruise. “Come on,” I whisper. Finally, there’s a catch and flame glows weak, then brighter. It reveals metal beams, collapsed walls, and my leg, pinned to the ground.

My heart pounds in my ears. The lighter sputters, then dies. In the darkness, two pinprick sparks appear in the distance. They approach as I call out. The lights circle, too close to the ground. Something pants nearby. Licks its jaws. The lights wink out, then open again.

OK, not sleeping tonight ... at least, not with the lights off.

When I pick him up, I'm as careful as I can be, because his bones are right there under his skin. He's the Velveteen Cat, his fur rubbed off in places, so thin he's a walking skeletal model of a creature. We call him the Lich Cat, say that he actually died two years ago but he hasn't bothered to stop moving.

He purrs as I settle him in my arms, and he slithers to his favorite spot on my left shoulder. I've worn scarves heavier than him. He drapes his front legs over my shoulder and settles his fragile head down with a long, happy sigh.

Aw...