Years ago I was introduced to a practice called “prompt response” that helped me practice drafting without pausing to edit. The instructions were simple: open the image, start the ten minute timer, write. My first story was 0 words. As time went on, however, I could often complete a full story in those ten minutes.

While looking for something else (isn’t that always the case?), I recently found all of those prompt response stories. I’ve decided to share a few of them here in a series titled Stories Along the Way. For each story, I’ll do my best to describe the photo that inspired it or attach a similar image.

The first story in this series is titled “The Dying Lights.” The photo for inspiration was an aerial map of the world at night with scattered lights. I hope you enjoy. 🙂

THE DYING LIGHTS

“Do you see them?” Kiran asked.

“We all see them,” Terah responded, his voice even. “But there is nothing we can do. He has commanded that we wait until the appointed time.”

“But when will that be?” Kiran dipped forward, his large wings lifting and falling in slow beats. “Their lamps are growing dim, and the time draws near.”

“The time is His. You know this and I know it. We all know.”

“But it draws near,” Kiran said again. “I feel it.” He flew higher, his flight taking on an agitated rhythm like the worried pacing of mortals.  “If He returns now, before the lamps go out, then it won’t be too late. If He…” his voice trailed off.

The soft patter of wings against wind filled the silence.

When Kiran spoke again, his voice was full of emotion. “She’s changing,” he said. “That’s her lamp.” He pointed, his arm lifting slowly as if weighted by the words he spoke. “Right there.”

He’d watched over Cyen from birth. He’d known of her long before then, loved her long before then. The words of men could not explain what ministering to her and coming before Father’s throne on her behalf meant to him.

But the times had changed drastically in her youth, and she had changed with them.

She, his Cyen, a scoffer. Loving the world that hated her. Losing her love for the One who died for her. Her lamp was dimming, its oil burning low, and despite Kiran’s best efforts she was fading away from Him. From Truth. From Life.

“You love her,” Terah said.

“Yes.”

“And you are worried for her, Kiran? Afraid even?”

“Yes,” Kiran said, his voice a choked whisper.

“Even though you know the truth?”

Kiran’s wings drooped. Yes, he knew the truth. He saw it mapped out below him in a land of souls where the lights faded and blackened toward the west. And there was Cyen’s light, dissolving like a final sunset ahead of eternal darkness.

The truth. It made him feel how humans looked when they anguished and declared their hearts broken. It made him long for the return of the Son, for a command to go forth and wage war on the powers of darkness, for anything that would save the precious soul entrusted to his care.

Before time ran out.

“You do know the truth, don’t you, Kiran?”

“I do,” he said.

“That He loves her much more than you?”

“What?” Kiran looked to his brother.

“She is His, Kiran,” Terah said, his gaze still on the land below. His massive wings rippled on either side of him. Iridescent shades of purple, gray, and teal shimmering in the light of the stars. “Yes, their lamps grow dim. And Father alone knows when Yeshua will return. All of this is truth. But none, not one, will be snatched from His hand. That is also truth.”

Terah turned to Kiran, his gaze tender. “Does He not command the time that you worry is running out? Did He not speak light into existence?” He laughed, the sound full of the wisdom of his position and rank.

Kiran’s breath hitched. “But—“

“So we do not watch their lamps, brother,” Terah interrupted. “We watch and wait for Him.”