He eyed the brass lamp that sat perched on his desk. It was surrounded by technology. A laptop, a camera The lamp in all its antiquity, stuck out like a black eye. It was cold, the eve of December, and his skin was chilled to the touch.
His fingertips lifted the thin glass globe and clicked the lighter that he withdrew from his pocket. Once. Twice... and fire sprouted from the tip, infectiously catching the charred wick with glowing flames. He replaced the globe and smiled for a brief moment. A flickering reminder of a time past. A link, if you will, to something he felt he was cheated out of.
He never honestly felt he belonged where he was. A day where electronic machines buzzed and announced every thought on every mind that covered the surface of the earth. Where ancient species were run down on paved roads, trampled under a tonne of steal and rubber. He disliked it where he was, but then was no better than now. Diseases that tore through the Aristocrats and the poor, without regard to money or religion or social standing. Diseases that were incurable and unavoidable.
He shook his head, watching the flame diminish and with nimble fingers, turned the old brass dial on the side of the lamp. Once again, the flame stood high, like a soldier called to attention. Anything to warm his bones for even a moment. His hands hovered on each side of the globe, trying to scare away the cold air and welcome in warmth and calm thoughts. No, even if he didn't fit in where he was, he would make the best of it. Because at least here, with the old antique lamp and a cup of tea, he could love without fear of death. He could read without fear of interruption and he could write without the fear of persecution. And that, was far above all else.
