The Lamp

The Lamp

         



        The Lamp waited in the dark enclosed box. It had been several years since its red shade had been lit with the pinkish hue of a light bulb.  Now it stood on display, shined up with a fresh new bulb within its core.

         The yard sale was a good opportunity to get rid of some junk and make a few extra bucks, thought Janice. 

         For The Lamp it was an opportunity to once again be appreciated and used.  It wasn’t that he no longer worked, quite contrary, The Lamp worked better then ever and was ready to no longer be shut in an attic where spiders and dust covered his once red shade turning it to a dull gray.

         Jack had been patrolling several yard sales in the area, hoping to find a lamp for a project he had been going to work on.  Jack was a prominent artist in the area and his talent of turning junk into “pieces” was something he was quite proud of.  As soon as he pulled up to the busy yard sale he saw the lamp, it was sitting near a pile of books and some other porcelain nick nacks.  Almost calling to him Jack’s eyes fixated on the red shade, the golden base, so many artistic possibilities running through his mind as he made his way through the crowd.

         “How much for the lamp?” asked Jack, money in hand.

         “That will be four dollars” replied Janice, completing the transaction.

         The lamp now excited by the prospect of being used again, slightly shifted on the table.  Jack’s strong warm hand wrapped around his base and The Lamp’s optimism soared.  The entire ride home Jack kept staring at The Lamp in the seat next to him, holding his hand against it firmly for any sharp turns.

         Three days later, The Lamp began to become impatient.  Still he had not been plugged in, and the dark area he was sitting in could have used some light.  Late that afternoon the light in the room came on and Jack, who had been promoting his art all day made his way down the rickety wooden stairs.  It was when the lights were turned on that the Lamp got a good look at the room.

         Broken appliances laid about, a television in the back corner was a mere vision of his former self, the screen had been painted as some sort of twisted canvas, completely robbing it of its use and dignity.  A kitchen table that The Lamp was sure once fed many people was now on it’s side, three of its four legs missing.  Then he spotted where they had gone, driven into the base of a helpless blender, creating some horrific monster of a once wonderful appliance.  If The Lamp was able to vomit now would have been the time to do so.  The table he was placed upon held a strange assortment of tools and shavings of wood and plastic that The Lamp was sure came from other victims.  Jack ran his hands across the smooth wood of The Lamps base and The Lamp shuttered, what horrible fate was to befall him?

         “Your going to be my greatest piece” softly whispered  Jack as he grabbed a sharp chisel and began to grind it into the once soft wood.  The Lamp twitched in agony, the pain was horrible and if he could have screamed, he would have.  Feeling the slight twitches under his fingers, Jack stopped his butchery and stood puzzled.  Jack checked the cord, it was not plugged in, he shrugged and went back to work carving a design into the wood.  Chips of wood and debris scattering all around The Lamp.  All The Lamp could do was watch in agony.

         Jack then reached for his utility knife and picked up the cord of The Lamp.  Over and over in The Lamps mind he begged, not the plug, please not the plug.  The sharp blade began to slice the protecting plastic that covered the precious wiring beneath.  Then from upstairs the phone began to ring.  Jack dropped the knife stopping the slicing halfway.

         “Don’t go anywhere” said Jack, placing the knife on the table.

         The Lamp knew he had to act, raising his cord to check the damage, it was not completely severed but he could not die like this.  The outlet and a bottle of long stale water devised a brilliant plan in The Lamps panicked and pain filled mind.  He placed his plug into the outlet and shifted his weight over so that he was close enough to the bottle of water to tip it over, each centimeter of movement was a orchestra of pain that shot up and down his battered base.

         When Jack returned he was shocked to see the plug fasted into the outlet, he reached for it and when The Lamp felt Jack’s warm hand grasping around the small slice in the cord he shifted his weight, tipping the bottle of water over, sending thousands of volts of electricity through himself and the artist.

         I will be your last victim!!! thought The Lamp as his bulb grew brighter than it had ever glowed and burst into a array of broken glass and sparks, like some magical firework.  Then for one last moment before the end The Lamp was happy he had shone so bright.         



                                                                                -END-