Empire of Light by Gregory Earls Page A

of July.
    They captured the spooky light of an old street lamp, illuminating dozens of trick-or-treaters on Halloween night.
    They captured Christmas lights on Main Street, during a late November dusting of snow.
    They captured the light of a fireplace, warming a mother and her son, after an afternoon of building his first snowman.
    But the two hunters of light saved the best for last. The final light captured would be of their own village, their family of production folk back in the Canadian field.
    After the film had wrapped and before everybody left the village to go back to their homes, the Cinematographer and his apprentice gathered them all together to take the crew picture with a traditional still camera.
    They collected in the middle of the wheat field where the stalks danced in the evening breeze. The apprentice set the timer and then quickly skipped into frame to join the picture.
    Click!
    Then the Cinematographer and his assistant had a surprise for the crew. They finally unveiled their light capture machine to the amazement of all.
    “I know you are all anxious to get home to your families and your homes,” said the Cinematographer, “but if you wouldn’t mind, could you stick around for a few minutes more so that I can capture the light of Magic Hour as it bounces off all your faces, you, the only family I’ve ever known? After which, you may go with my very best wishes for a happy and blessed life.”
    The tight-knit crew huddled together again in the wheat field just as the Magic Hour light arrived. The light swept across the golden Canadian landscape and enveloped their faces. It filled the wrinkles of age and made them look years younger. It lightened the circles under their eyes and made them seem more alive. It placed a glint in their eyes and made them seem more enchanted with the moment.
    And it was this magic light that was reflected back to the Cinematographer’s machine where it was trapped in a small bottle, crafted of charmed smoke and glass.
    And with that, it was over. There was nothing left but handshakes, hugs and goodbyes. The crew climbed into their cars and trucks and caravanned to the airport, caught a plane and flew back to the “reality” of Hollywood, leaving the ol’ man in his motor home, alone once again.
    But one member of the crew could not bear to leave him alone in that Canadian field. The assistant. The assistant wanted to spend some more time with his boss, his old friend, for a little while longer.
    He asked the Cinematographer where he might go next. After all, there was still plenty of gorgeous light to be captured in the world before his sight completely went away.
    “There is no place else to go,” the Cinematographer said sadly. “I just used up the last of the light capture gas on the family portrait. There is no more. It’s all over.”
    The Cinematographer had one more trick up his sleeve, however. The apprentice noticed that all of the bottles had been rigged to release all of their light, all at once. He also noticed that the bottles were attached to a new amplifier, so that the light could be boosted to an almost unimaginable level of intensity.
    The Cinematographer didn’t know for certain what effect the amplified light would have on his weak eyes, but he had a pretty good idea that the release would probably be the last thing he would ever see on Earth.
    He couldn’t think of a better vision before blackness.
    After the apprentice nervously helped his mentor set the timer, the ol’ man asked him to leave the motor home, but first he gave his old assistant a gift, the vintage 1930 Brownie camera gifted to him by his old orphanage.
    He asked the assistant to go outside and stand a safe distance from the vehicle, and at the exact moment the magic light was released, to take a picture with the Brownie Camera.
    The assistant always did as his mentor asked, so after an earnest handshake, the assistant left the trailer and walked deep into the wheat field,