The sky was bright that night. Light spilled from the city upwards, creating a glowing dome in the air. The old man paused in his walk and sighed.
It hadn't always been like this he remembered. Once, when he was young, he had seen the stars. Only once. It had been on a trip to the country, when there still was country, before the street lights had murdered the stars. Well, the proper punishment for murder was death. And so the old man was going to execute the street lights. He adjusted his mask, coughing slightly as some air snaked beneath it, and continued walking.
It was a good thing he was going to do, he reassured himself. People needed the stars. They were lost without them. The stars had always been used for guidance, both in navigation and astrology. It was important to be able to look up at the sky and see where you were.
He arrived at the power plant. It was silent and empty. There were no guards, in fact no real security at all. There was no need. Who would want to attack the plant and return humanity to the dark ages? It would take a lunatic. As he entered the building, the old man thought that it would be nice to see the moon again as well.
Once inside it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. He needed the main wire that connected the street lighting to the power grid. Having deciphered the labels, the old man withdrew a pair of wire clippers from his pocket.
He cut the wire. Funny that. Once it was over supply of electricity that killed. Now he was using deprivation of the same to extinguish life. His work done, the old man gazed out of the window. All over the city the street lights were dying. Above the city the stars came out. It was a beautiful sight.

Copyright © 1998, Tom Massey
URL: http://www.oocities.org/SoHo/Atrium/8864/stories/streetlights.html

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