A Flickering Beacon

The quiet under the television console drew me in as the room went dim. Beside a tangle of sleeping cords, a translucent red plastic guitar pick lay nestled in the carpet dust. I stood motionless over it, letting the deep gloom settle around my boots. Then, with sudden precision, I knelt and jammed the sharp edge of the pick upright into the narrow seam between two floorboards. A tiny, stray beam from an indicator light struck the red wedge, making it glow like a miniature ember in the dark.