An old man, pale and haggard, furrowed his brows in discomfort as he slowly raised himself into a seated position with the help of his electric hospital bed.

Meanwhile, his nurse was busy helping him appear at least somewhat presentable for his imminently-arriving granddaughter, who was on her way to disturb his agonizingly long radiation treatment recovery.

Just as the nurse finished doing her best to comb his frighteningly sparse white hair, the hospital room door burst open, none too gently, to reveal the slim and slightly tanned appearance of his granddaughter, who looked to be somewhere within her early twenties.

Her floral dress fluttered against her long legs as she walked into the room with a gift bag in hand, heels loudly clacking on the tiled floor.

The sight of the swaying gift bag nearly dragged a long sigh from the old man.

Instead of sighing though, his well practiced smile lit up his wrinkly face as he ignored the shooting pain coursing through the remnants of his facial muscles. He chose to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe it’s for somebody else.

“Hi Grandpa Oliver. Happy birthday!” The young girl exclaimed happily while plopping herself onto a chair next to the window. She placed the gift bag on the table confidently. However, the slight signs of guilt in her expression did not escape from Oliver’s discerning eyes.

This time, Oliver did sigh.

The nurse smiled playfully at him. She then took the opportunity to exit the room in order to give the two some privacy.

After watching the nurse leave, Oliver’s smile fell slightly.

He very softly replied, “Thank you, Abigail. I really hope that gift in front of you isn’t for me. You know I don’t like you all giving me gifts.”

Especially if I’m the one who’s going to be paying for them in the end.

Abigail quickly waved her hands in surrender.

“I know, I know! Dad already gave me the spiel. But you have to trust me this time. I know you’ll love this!”

Abigail began digging in the bag before Oliver could make further protests. He gave up arguing as he began internally calculating the dollar amount this money-sucking gremlin would beg for this time.

She pulled out a nearly headsized ball of bubble wrap and paper, which she then began to tear open as she spoke with a smile.

“You know that I know how much you love your ancient artifacts. My Field Research mentor brought back a large batch of artifacts from our dig site, and he decided to give away a few of the common and unidentifiable ones.”

She got rid of the remaining paper, revealing a surprisingly beautiful, intricately carved, ancient Arabic oil lamp. Under the midday sunlight, abstract patterns could be seen densely decorating its golden surface.

After just a short moment of dubious observation, a sparkle began to shine within Oliver’s previously cloudy eyes.

Abigail caught sight of Oliver’s growing interest and continued her introduction with growing confidence, “There aren't any identifiable characters on the outside, and even though its metallic structure looks very similar to gold, it certainly isn’t real gold. Otherwise, there was no way I could’ve taken this away. It isn’t brass either, of which most of these types of oil lamps are made of. But I trust my eyes. There’s certainly something valuable about this lamp!”

She animatedly continued as she gently passed the lamp into Oliver’s shakingly outstretched hands, “I figured something was special about it, so I brought it home yesterday in order to check and see if there was anything hidden inside. However, regardless of what I tried; I couldn’t get the top to open! It has to be sealed shut with some sort of industrial-strength adhesive. I even got my boyfriend to smash the damned lamp with a sledgehammer! Not even a scratch! The thing is strangely resilient.”

After examining the oil lamp a few times over in healthy skepticism, he allowed himself to believe at least most of what his granddaughter had told him.

He was no expert, but he had seen his fair share of valuable relics in his 87 years, even directly purchasing the ones he couldn’t bear to part with.

Just like his sharp-eyed granddaughter, he also noticed the uniqueness of the lamp, corroborating her claim that it truly wasn’t made of gold, despite its incredible likeness.

The most interesting thing was that he could not identify what metallic substance the lamp was composed of at all!

Surely not brass, nor bronze, or pinchbeck…

Metals and alloys flew through his old, yet agile brain, hastily considering many possibilities as to the origin of the strange lamp. In the end, the only conclusion he arrived to was that he had never seen nor heard of this metallic substance before in his lifetime!

Is it some sort of extremely complex alloy?

It couldn't possibly be an undiscovered metal... could it?

At this moment, Oliver felt like he had regained some youth, pain from the chemotherapy and radiation therapy slipping away like it had never existed!

Abigail suddenly clapped her petite hands to interrupt Oliver’s train of thought, “You can tinker with it after you’ve recovered, Grandpa. The most important thing for you to do is make three birthday wishes!”

Oliver halted his movements, his body harshly reminding him of its current unfavorable condition. Pain renewed and somewhat emotionally deflated, he glanced up at his granddaughter in bewilderment.

His voice hoarse with pain and annoyance, he asked, “Make a wish? Don’t tell me you plan on waving a birthday cake in my face, knowing full well I can’t eat it?”

She sat back down in her chair with a huff as she spoke, “You cannot tell me you don’t see the resemblance. That lamp looks like Aladdin’s lamp from the folktale! The reason I brought the lamp to you today was so that you can rub it a bit and make some wishes! Since you can’t have a cake for your birthday, at least you can dream of a beautiful genie granting your each and every wish, right?”

Oliver really wanted to smack his smirking granddaughter upside her head with the oil lamp. Instead, he just sighed and looked down at the lamp silently, tiredness gradually building within his thin arms.

He said, “All Arabic oil lamps look like Aladdin’s lamp, girl. Regardless, let me make some wishes so that you can leave me with some peace and quiet.”

Abigail satisfyingly leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she waited somewhat excitedly to see what this stingy Grandpa of her’s would wish for.

He rubbed the cool lamp for a short, silent moment in mock contemplation.

“I wish that, in my next life, I will be exceedingly rich, exceedingly handsome, and exceedingly talented. Haha!”

Abigail sighed. She shook her head in disappointment, considering softly to herself, “Of course my stingy old grandpa would wish for the most superficial thi— Grandpa, are you ok?”

At this moment, Oliver couldn’t hear a single word Abigail said. His body was frozen still, eyes locked straight onto the oil lamp in silence.

Something equal parts vague and distinct was forcefully consuming every ounce of his attention. Within his body, he could hear sounds that seemed to resemble a stately bell, a bell that was tolling resoundingly in his insides.

He felt it “tolling” thrice in total, as if signifying each of his previous three wishes.

After an unknown amount of time had passed, he felt a gentle force rocking his shoulder persistently, forcing him out of his stupor.

Abigail was standing next to his hospital bed with a concerned frown on her face, “Grandpa, are you ok? What happened to you just now? Do you need me to call the nurse back?”

He didn’t bother answering. He absentmindedly looked back down at the lamp in his lap, thoughts spinning in his head.

What happened to me just now? It… it almost felt like…

In the moment that Abigail made up her mind to call for a nurse, Oliver spoke up commandingly, “Here, you take the lamp and make a wish. Tell me if you feel anything out of the ordinary.”

She looked at him incredulously.

She considered calling the nurse anyway, but she suddenly noticed that Oliver’s eyes held no room for further discussion.

After the silent exchange between the two, Abigail did what was asked of her and made a short wish, standing there silently for a few moments until she shook her head in Oliver’s direction. She stared at her grandfather with her eyebrows raised in question, waiting for him to continue.

He ruminated to himself for a moment before speaking with a weak smile on his aged face: “Maybe It’s just exhaustion. I’ve talked so much today that my insides are trembling. Let me get some rest, sweetheart. You can leave the oil lamp on the table on your way out.”

Abigail sighed and stepped back to place the lamp back on the table, making up her mind to talk to a nurse about his condition after she left.

She grabbed the rest of her belongings before she quietly spoke, “Ok, I’ll leave you be for now. Get some rest, Grandpa. Happy birthday.”

After glancing at her grandfather in concern, she turned to open the hospital room door in departure, the extra allowance that she had originally planned to plead her case for long forgotten.

…

After Abigail closed the door behind her, Oliver pressed the recline button on his hospital bed in silence, calmly contemplating about what he had just experienced. His pain and fatigue were far in the back of his mind.

That felt far too real to be mistaken as ordinary phenomena.

Is this a side effect of the radiation treatment? Or am I finally going senile in my old age?

As soon as he finished this thought, sadness unknowingly began to bloom in his heart.

If Oliver was ever confident in one thing in his life, it was his resiliently supple mind, which allowed him to adapt through the constant struggles that the world seemed to enjoy throwing at him.

He was able to stay remarkably calm when his wife suddenly passed away at the young age of 19, due to labor complications that originated from the unexpected birth of triplets.

He was able to give an 18 year-long Oscar-worthy performance of a loving and supportive father to his three boys, even though he secretly, irrationally detested each one of them for taking his wife away from him. For them, he worked two to three jobs at a time and rarely slept, yet his intellect did not seem to dull.

He was able to get his GED after finally sending his three children away to University, as he was forced to drop out of high school at 14 to help his parents pay the bills.

He was even able to easily keep his cool when he was informed of his stage three bone marrow cancer, feeling as if it was just one more tribulation he had yet to overcome.

However, the one thing he could always count on throughout his life seemed to be failing him now.

He felt that he had learned a heartbreaking lesson after all these years.

He had never been truly happy, but he learned to find satisfaction in his ability to overcome the relentless obstacles in his life. Whether it was hunger when he was young, poverty when he was middle-aged, or the cancer he had contracted in his old age, he continued to push on because he felt that one day, he would free himself of every troubling circumstance that bound him.

And once he was free, all the pain, endurance, and heartbreak would have been worth it.

But now, as he looked down at his failing body, he suddenly could no longer tell what he was fighting for. Even if he beat cancer, he was still on the last legs of his life.

He would eventually have to witness himself lose every single thing he had worked hard for. Maybe not now, maybe not due to cancer, but, sooner rather than later, it would surely happen.

He might never experience the feeling of liberation. His time was almost up, and he was tired.

Before he could begin to pry himself from his self-deprecation, a fierce and bone-chilling exhaustion, unlike anything he had ever felt, began to rapidly build within himself.

He felt increasingly that something was going very wrong.

He turned his head, intending to reach towards the help button. However, just when he began to summon the effort to move his arm, his attention was once again stolen by the oil lamp.

The oil lamp was glowing!

More specifically, the intricate patterns carved onto its surface were shining with dazzlingly bright golden light.

Could I be dreaming? How is that lamp…?

As he stared at this astonishing occurrence, he noticed that as every second passed, the inexplicable light grew noticeably brighter.

On the contrary, he also couldn’t help but register that as the light grew brighter, his consciousness seemed to grow fainter.

A shocking suspicion sprouted quickly in his heart, one that he thought he was insane to even consider. Even though the correlation was there, the very thought was so incomprehensible that he immediately tried to dismiss it. But the longer he observed the shining oil lamp, the more confident he felt.

This damned “lamp” is feeding off of me! What sort of wicked thing did that unfilial Abigail bring me!

But at this moment, Oliver solemnly realized that he had missed his last chance to call for help, as he lacked the energy to even open his mouth to speak, let alone lift his limp arm to press the emergency button.

He could only feebly watch in a daze as the oil lamp’s mysterious, soul-sucking light continued to build, spreading across the entire room.

A few moments later, the light seemed to reach a climactic peak, nearly blinding Oliver, whose thoughts had gradually begun to slow.

Crack!

Suddenly, a splintering sound rang throughout the room, causing Oliver’s faint awareness to dissipate in an instant.

His mind fell completely silent.

The blinding light disappeared, revealing a fractured lamp with fissures covering its entire surface area. It was vibrating against the table at dizzying speeds until, unexpectedly, it stilled.

Bang!

In the next instant, the lamp exploded violently, sending shards flying through the air, their trajectories aimed towards every corner of the room.

But before the flying golden shards could touch anything, they suddenly stilled in space, as if spacetime halted itself exclusively within this small hospital room.

Like stars in the bright night sky, the shards suspended in space released one last burst of light, shining small motes of brilliant golden rays down onto Oliver’s unmoving body for a few brief moments.

Gradually, the shards transformed into glittery golden motes of light before dissipating into nothingness, as if the lamp had never existed.

Silence filled the room.

Oliver’s half lidded eyes remained blank, motionless, lifeless.

Eventually, the electrocardiogram monitoring Oliver’s heart transitioned from a steady beeping sound to a piercing, drawn-out long tone.

Oliver had suddenly and incomprehensibly passed away.