Juan Tirado

English 131 Th. 7:00 PM

Professor Olivas
There is a Light that Never Goes Out
On a cold, dim day Caleb stormed into his room. He jumped into bed and grabbed his
journal sitting at his nightstand, furiously beginning to write. He channeled it all into his writing
the low test scores, the deception of friends, the loss of identity, the overbearing weight of
solitude. He had been accustomed to find solace in pen on paper, but today it was not enough. He
turned to look at the bottle of anxiety medication standing on his desk. It stood out to him in the
blur of the room like a bright, neon green exit sign. He became consumed by an internal struggle
that lasted about five minutes before he got up and walked to the bottle. As soon as he touched it,
the room became flooded with light. Confused, he turned to the source in the corner of the room.
It was a lamp dressed in dust that he had inherited from the attic of his home when he had first
moved in. Ancient in design, its molding was inscribed with strange symbols along its mahogany
base. There was no record of the family that lived once before to have contacted them about it, so
he had kept it. He walked to the plug, aiming to disconnect it to filter out the unwelcomed light.
He very much preferred dark spaces. He found, however, when he arrived to the lamp, that it was
not connected. It was a very peculiar surprise for him. Filled with curiosity, he unscrewed the
lightbulb. The light still emanated from the bulb, stealing all his interest. He sat it back in its
setting and he walked to the bed, sitting to admire the strange light. It didnt go out that night.
Nor the weeks after. His parents initially expressed concern, searching for external help
everywhere. Their electrician made nothing of it, and their local priest relentlessly blessed the
room, deeming it as cleansed from supernatural activity. Eventually they all came to accepted it

as what in their minds was a defective light bulb. Caleb developed a peculiar liking to the lamp
and kept it for years to come, bringing it with him to university and then giving it a corner in
every home he owned. The light never once gave out. As a highly successful and celebrated
writer, he developed his best stories accompanied by the lamps warm emanating light. When his
children sat on his lap to listen to him read his favorite stories, the lamp listened, too. The lamp
that once struck wonder to all those that approached him had now become a common presence in
his life. It had become his partner in life, a token symbolic to his developed life that
accompanied him until the end, never once giving out. On the day of Calebs natural death, it
did. Nevertheless, it sat beside him at his wake. His remaining family kept the lamp as a
testament to Calebs fulfilling and beautiful life. One day, a few weeks after Calebs death, his
daughter Mary walked into his office for the first time since he had passed. She felt tears fall as
she took in the energy of his favorite room, following the traces of the scent he had left behind.
She paced the space he had once inhabited, all his belongings still in the place he had left them.
His desk sat in the far corner, adorned with scattered pieces of paper. The chair was drawn out,
like he had just stepped out to grab a glass of water. But of course, he would not return. Mary
walked to the chair and sat, sinking into where he once did. She looked over the scribbles he had
left unfinished, grabbing the one closest in reach. Suppressing back incoming emotion, she began
to read aloud his written thoughts. At this, the lamp in the corner of the room lit up, illuminating
all. Mary let out a gasp of surprise. She did not question it, however, and instead smiled as she
continued to read her fathers writings. A warmness enveloped the room, and she knew that he
was with her.