A crystal skull

A skull made of polished crystal, sits neglected on one corner of the shelf. When the light catches it out of the shadows, the crystal sparkles, refracting the sunlight into a multitude of colored rays, splitting apart the very essence of the light into its individual components. The sockets are deep and dark, two black holes bored out of a piece of solid light. The skull itself seems so well crafted, so immaculate, that one would assume that it was unique, a rare artifact of ancient times, perhaps stolen from a sorceror’s table, or wrung from the clammy grasp of a prehistoric graveyard. One could assume all of that, but the origin of the skull was much more common, clear as day if one knew where to look, for on the underside of the skull were engraved the simple letters “MADE IN CHINA�.

Of course, Corin knew the true origin of the souvenir. For her, magic was found in the discovery, in the process. For her, ordinary items held the most power. A hairbrush, a basketball, a gourd. Ordinary items, found in unusual places. For her, the skull was a reminder of things past, of a trip and a journey, a discovery and a loss. A physical manifestation of a mnemonic device, placed in a specific position in a specific way so that she could remember where she had been. And so, she didn’t notice the engraved lettering of the skull, for she had no need to. The magic was in the journey, she always said.

The magic was in the journey.

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