I walked into the dusty, dark antique store in Ankara, Turkey. Stopping to adjust my eyes to the lack of light, I gradually began to see outlines of objects scattered here and there in the dusky light.
My eyes scanned ancient swords, broken pottery, stuffed owls, long out of date clothing, and then - - - the pot. A pewter pot. It was about 12 inches tall, with an intricately curved handle on one side, engraved with strange cueniform along the top edge and a wreath on it’s front surface.
I carefully reached out and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. I used my right hand to grasp the handle and my left caressed the other side as I balanced it in my hands.
And then.
A puff of smoke came from the inside of the vessel, rising and building in the air and slowly forming into the turbaned head of . . . a genie. He gazed down on me with a fierce expression. He opened his mouth to speak.
And then I woke up.
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This was a writing exercise prompted by Willow. It is explained at Magpie Tales. Click on it for the rules and to join in, if you like.
