Luminate

~1907~

The lamp flickered and came to life. It took in its surroundings. A dimly lit room cluttered with metal, wires, and fabric. An old man with wired glasses was smiling widely at it. The man turned and blew out a candle on his desk. The light in the room now came exclusively from the lamp, radiating out around it. It noticed the old man laughing joyfully. The lamp felt... brighter. Like it had done something great. The man reached towards the lamp and flipped a switch at its base. And suddenly that feeling- that light- was gone.

~

The lamp awoke to find a fancy cloth and a wire frame covering it's light bulb partially. The room it found itself in was larger and fancier. It was sitting on a small table next to a bed. It watched a woman in an expensive looking dress as she examined it carefully. Apparently satisfied, the woman exited the room, closing the door behind her. Alone for the first time in its short life, the lamp looked around. There was dull pink floral wallpaper surrounding the bedroom. For such a large room, there was surprisingly little to see. At one side of the room, a large vanity sat with a large mirror hanging above it. An expensive rug laid on the floor under a shiny crystal chandler. And on the opposite side of the bed was another lamp, identical to the first. The lamp gazed at it. It wondered what it was thinking. It wondered if it was capable of thinking. Or was it the only one? This thought made it feel alone, so it pushed it out of its mind. It hoped the other lamp was alive. But it couldn't tell.

It wanted to move. To send a sign. To do something to let the other lamp know that it was sentient. That it was alive. But it couldn't move. It couldn't do anything. All the lamp could do was watch, and think.

So that's what it did. Whenever the woman or her husband flipped the switch, the lamp would flicker to life. And it would watch the woman or the man. It observed everything they did, analyzed it. When they were gone, it watched the other lamp.

One day, the lamp saw a brilliant orange fire at the bottom of the closed door to the room. It was much larger and more beautiful than the candles that the lamp had seem before. As it watched, the fire grew larger, and crept father under the door. It crawled up the walls and began to consume the room entirely. The lamp gazed in awe at the beautiful colors comming towards it. The fire spread across the rug, and enveloped the vanity.

Then to the lamp's dismay, the fire caught on to a piece of the second lamp's fabric cover. In moments, the lamp was engulfed in a deep scarlet flame. As the second lamp grew hotter, the cheap silver coating began to melt off it's exterior. It flickered as if it were screaming, pleading for help. But the lamp couldn't do anything. And as it watched in dismay, the lightbulb of the second lamp overheated and shattered.

~

The next few hours passed in a hazy blur. The lamp was dimly aware of the fire as a group of men doused it with gallons upon gallons of water. It subtly noticed as the men unplugged the other lamp, tarnished and fried. But the lamp couldn't bring itself to care. Not anymore. It vowed to never care about anything again. Caring only caused pain.

One of the men, who had a large black beard, walked over to the lamp and ump unplugged it, making everything go dark yet again.

~