The Streetlight That Feared Red: A Fable

There once was a streetlight at the edge of an old neighborhood where no one lived anymore. The houses had long been boarded up. The road was cracked and quiet. But the streetlight still stood—tall and waiting—as if someone might return.

It changed its colors like it always had: green to yellow, yellow to red, red to green again.

But deep in its wires, the streetlight wished for only one thing: to be green always. Green was calm. Green was joy. Green was everything good.

But when the red light came, it hurt. A flash of fire shot through its circuits. It didn’t like the way red made it feel—tight, frightened, alone.

And so it began to fear red. Not just when it came, but even before, at the first flicker of yellow.

Then one day, without warning, the power went out.

No spark. No sound. Just silence.

The streetlight blinked once, then went dark.

It sat like that for a long, long time. No lights. No feelings. Just stillness.

The wind blew. Rain came and went. The streetlight remained unchanged.

No one noticed. No one came.

At first, the quiet was a kind of relief. But in time, the streetlight missed its lights. Every one of them.

It missed the rush in its wires. The fire in its chest. The something that let it know it was still alive.

And so it began to hope—for green, of course. And yellow. But even red. Even pain. Even that.

Then one morning, the power returned.

It was only a hum at first, a little buzz in its base, but soon the lights flickered on. And the colors came back.

Green.

Yellow.

Red.

The same as before. But something in the streetlight had changed.

When red came, it still hurt. But the streetlight didn’t fight it. It let the feeling pass through, like weather.

And then it noticed something miraculous.

When green came now, it felt even brighter. Fuller. More beautiful than ever.

From that day on, the streetlight kept shining, color to color, moment to moment, without fear.

Still, no cars came. No people noticed.

But the streetlight understood something very important now:

Red was never the enemy.

It had only ever been a color.

Just a feeling.

Just part of being a streetlight.