“Come stand beneath the candelabra,” she commanded.
My grandmother, old battle-axe, had never liked me. The feeling was mutual. As the oldest male heir I had inherited our family’s wealth. She had hated me for it, but I still attempted to be respectful. Blind as a bat and equally nocturnal, she eyed me as I stood in the full glare of a hundred crystal housed candles. As if illuminated by God’s own searchlight, I returned her glare.
“Ha!” she expounded with a flourish releasing some sort of rope.
“Damn!” shouted I, as the candelabra slit open my skull.


30 thoughts on “Illuminating

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