you imagine the history of an object.

just writing and using prompt as the title

I walked into the sale, it's an estate sale for some rich old guy who had more legends than facts about him in this town. The stories say he was a great adventurer, some say he was a grave robber and thief. What everyone could agree on, he had some of the rarest and eclectic collection of artifacts in the state. I walk past antique butter churns to whole suits of armor with dangerous looking axes in their gauntlets.


Now, weeks after his death from pneumonia, a common death for an old man in the winter, I walk around his house. Everything is for sale from wall to wall, common furniture and unique treasures from across the world alike. In his den, my eye falls on a tarnished brass kaleidoscope, its barrel pitted with age. I walk to it and pick it up, its weight is considerably more than a modern version. looking through its eyepiece, brilliant colors explode in the light. I turn it around and see it seems to be beach glass in the tumble case. I wonder who made this, and where it came from.


I examine it closer and realize the main chamber of this looks to be cut from an old world war 2 artillery shell, or perhaps a naval shell. This could have been made by some bored engineer on a ship, traveling between ports on a cargo run, or maybe by an escort vessel. The beach glass fits, as I'm sure he would have had shore leave once his ship reached each destination and was waiting to unload any cargo or men to send to the war.


Also they could be a woman, looking for a way to use her skills after the war's ending put her out of work with the soldiers returning. She could have been looking for some way to use what she learned building the ships, planes, and tanks. She could have been spending her time, waiting for her husband or boyfriend to come back from war, and came across some old brass shells, beach glass found while meditating about her lost vocation, and some mirrors she found broken by The Blitz. Using a borrowed machine shop, she could have made this as a gift to someone to show that even after war, something beautiful could come of it.


I realize I will never know the true story, but I now know that I must have this. I take it straight to the front entrance, willing to pay almost any price for such a seemingly special item. When I get there, a bored college age girl scarcely looks up from her phone before asking "Is that all you want?" When I tell her it is, she only responds with "Ten bucks for that trash." I gladly pay, knowing that I probably saved something from the landfill, something that has value even if that girl can't see it.