James sat on his couch rubbing his magic lamp. Or perhaps, his ex-magic lamp. He wasn’t sure anymore, but obviously hopeful.
He’s been doing that for months, sometimes several times a day, to no avail.
He was absolutely sure of what he saw, it was clear as day. Short, very short, but it must have happed.
A blue figure made of smoke, perhaps a woman but much bigger, laughing hysterically as it rose up to the sky, a man looking at it horrified before disappearing into nothing leaving small trails of black smoke around him, and seconds later nothing remained in that quiet street corner but this unassuming lamp.
Magic. Real magic. That must have been what he saw. And then it was gone forever.
James went to every antique store in the area, every historian he could find, every paranormal enthusiast or just anyone willing to listen. They’ve all claimed it was a simple brass oil lamp. Cheap and warn down. Not even worth it as a prop. James thought it must have been part of its magic, a shield to make it unassuming, unimportant. It was precious, it must have been.
After a few minutes of his fruitless exercise he sighed and put it back on his shelf. Recounting that day’s events back in his head. It was real. It needed to be real. Magic exists and he will experience it firsthand. He must.