Little Lamp

This time when I turned on the lamp in the den it said “Hello”.

Imagine my surprise.

“Hello?” it said.

“Hello?” I called.

“Over here.” Said the lamp. I walked over and peaked under the white fringed shade.

“Do you mind removing this thing on my head?” asked the lamp.

I am losing my mind, I thought. Yet, obeyed.

“Ah, much better. What is your name?” the lamp asked in a lyrical little voice.

“John?” I said.

“You sound unsure.”

“I’m not sure what I’m sure about right this second.” I muttered. The lamp laughed and shined a little brighter.

“I understand. I am not being terribly fair. I know light cannot speak here. I came here from another place. I had to leave, you see.”

I looked around the room to see if anyone was watching before turning back to the lamp.

“Why did you have to leave?” I asked.

“Oh it is a sad story. Where I am from, everyone is made of light, as I am. When we are born we are wrapped in colored paper. Usually the same color as your parents, if they aren’t too progressive. As we grow we add more and more paper until we are all but black. It is not a very beautiful place. People are sad, there is very little light. I just wanted to create a little more light. But, with the light, came the heat.”

I thought about it. “Fire?”

“You bet!” chimed the lamp. “And, as you probably know, heat and paper do not mix very well.”

The lamp paused. I reached out and patted it gently at the base.

“But, on the bright side there is plenty of light now. On the downside, all the paper is gone. No one can tell who anyone is. They began snuffing each other out looking for me. So, I left. And now I am your lamp. I hope you don’t mind?”

I thought about it.

“Not particularly. But you really shouldn’t talk while my wife is around. She might not be so understanding.”

“Noted.”

“How did you get here anyway?” I asked.

“Through the lamp, obviously.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re not going to make any trouble here are you?”

“How could I? I’m trapped in this little lamp. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d come talk to me every now and then. Boredom can be worse than death.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“You’re the best!”

I placed the shade back onto the lamp. I made my way into the kitchen. My wife was there; I tried to sneak by.

She noticed. She always notices.

“Where are you going Mr. Klein?”

I sighed. “Nowhere dear, nowhere.”

 

 

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10 comments

  1. I thought I’d stumbled in on a Saturday story by mistake momentarily. In other news I can’t find the red haired granny but have written a fresher, better version, which I might post on sgtcookieblog at the weekend. I only posted a piece (on my verse site) yesterday and, unlike you, don’t have the confidence and ability to post too frequently. I’ve got to tip my hat to you, flash365. You’re efforts are highly enjoyable and (hopefully) inspiring, thank you. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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