The light of the stars above
the city
first sparked over a Scandinavian
village
in the long forgotten
past.
Now, the light has reached
the dilapidated old
building,
set aside for the
impoverished,
the long forgotten, and
the rats.
There, in the darkness of
a stairwell,
a shot rang out.
The monstrous Grendel
tumbled, dead.
No doubt some mythic
greatness
would await the heroic
officer.
Only it was an accident without
a monster.
And the officer was a
villager,
like so many of us, so
many of us.
In the days that followed,
the elevator
would see repair
so the stairwell could be
avoided
until the lights, too,
could be replaced.
