Black Fr!day Light

Intro

This story was sparked by the writing prompt I shared while hosting the #BlueskyRelay: “the candle blinked twice.”

I liked how the phrase carried a quiet sense of mischief, as if something small and ordinary had decided to behave in a way it should not.

And since the prompt went out on my birthday, which also landed on Black Friday this year, I let that odd pairing shape the mood a bit. The result is a playful little tale about a morning that refuses to stay ordinary, written with just enough whimsy to match the day.

Black Fr!day Light

Henry woke on his sixtieth birthday to the sound of his phone buzzing like a trapped insect. He squinted at the screen.

Black Friday deals everywhere.

Every store on earth seemed convinced that what he needed on this sacred morning was a discounted blender or a three hundred dollar treadmill.

He tossed the phone onto the couch. “Nothing says welcome to a new decade like targeted marketing,” he muttered. He stretched, felt something pop in his shoulder, and decided it was probably fine.

He brewed coffee, the good stuff he saved for occasions. Turning sixty felt like it qualified. The sky outside was still dim, a sort of early morning gray that had not decided whether to brighten or sulk.

He lit the small candle on the counter, partly for ambiance, partly because the kitchen light was too harsh before coffee settled into his bloodstream.

Halfway through his first sip, the flame flickered. Then it did something peculiar. It blinked twice like a nervous eye.

Henry stared at it. “If you are trying to signal something about my future, pick a better day. I am already dealing with sales, aging joints, and a birthday that shares space with stampeding shoppers.”

The flame steadied for a moment, then stretched upward like it had been waiting for an invitation. A tiny spark detached from the wick and drifted down, gently landing on the stove without burning a thing. It quivered, gathered itself, and formed into a miniature figure wearing a robe of warm light.

Henry sighed. “Of course. Some people get breakfast in bed. I get a glowing visitor in my kitchen.”

“Greetings,” the figure said. Its voice sounded like two coins clinking together. “Your milestone has summoned guidance.”

“I did not summon anything,” Henry said. “Unless lighting a candle counts.”

The figure looked at him with tiny glowing eyes. “You began a new decade on a day when the world behaves strangely. That much energy guarantees a response.”

“Energy,” Henry repeated. “You mean the chaos of people fighting over discounted televisions.”

“Exactly,” the figure said. “Black Friday is known for its turbulence. Perfect for awakening dormant requests.”

Henry groaned. “What dormant request.”

The figure lifted a small clipboard no bigger than a sugar packet. “You once wished for clarity in your later years. The request has matured and is now active.”

Henry blinked. “Clarity. That seems suspiciously ambitious for someone who forgot where he put his reading glasses yesterday.”

The figure ignored that. It pointed toward the candle. The flame rose, curled into the shape of a simple path, then dissolved into a warm glow that filled the room.

“What does that mean,” Henry asked.

“That you may walk a different direction now,” the figure said. “Not because you must but because you finally can.”

Henry leaned on the counter. “I thought sixty came with naps and vitamins.”

“You can have those too,” the figure said. “But you are allowed to reinvent things. You are allowed to chase ideas. You are allowed to start a new chapter even if the world is out there trampling each other for discounted appliances.”

Henry snorted. “So this decade comes with magic, unsolicited advice, and a glowing consultant.”

“We prefer the term guide.”

“And you are here for how long?”

“As long as you need,” the figure said. “Or until your candle goes out. Whichever happens last.”

Henry took a slow sip of coffee, tasting the warmth settle into him. The flame blinked twice again, this time looking almost cheerful.

“Well,” Henry said. “If this is the start of sixty, it is at least more interesting than a blender.”

The figure bowed. “Happy birthday. Enjoy the noise outside. You now have permission to ignore it.”

Henry lifted his mug in a sort of toast.

Black Friday could keep its chaos. The next decade, he decided, was going to be strange in all the right ways.