"I just want to check if I can do the 'Three More Wishes' thing."

"Wish granted: No, you can't. Denied."

FOOF.

I'll admit to being taken a bit off guard.

I was hoping to 'meet' Stella at the bus stop and maybe walk her to class. If she'd been there, I probably wouldn't have picked up the unused bus ticket off the ground, but a free ride is a fair consolation prize in the absence of a cute girl. When I inserted the ticket into the validation machine on the bus and watched the driver morph into a hazy glowing apparition, I was somewhat unnerved. That doesn't usually happen unless I've been drinking.

Then he set out the deal: three wishes - the standard genie arrangement. I'd never met a genie before. This one was overweight and sweaty, with the interpersonal sensibilities of a devoted World Of Warcraft aficionado. Still, three free wishes is a good deal, even if it involves body odour.

"What was that 'foof' sound?" I asked.

"That was me granting your first wish, champ. You wished to check about 'Three More Wishes'."

"Hey, that wasn't my wish!"

"Common mistake, bud. Are you trying to stiff me for a free wish? They all try it. 'Hey, I didn't mean that. Can I have another go?' Whiny prats. Think first, then speak."

So that was how it was: surly bus driver genie plays hardball.

I took a seat behind the driver on the surprisingly empty bus and thought carefully.

"If a question doesn't contain a request, it doesn't count as a wish, right?"

"Correct. You, sir, are very insightful. A wish is where you say what you want, and I make it happen."

"And how long do I have to make my remaining three..."

"Two."

Bugger. Obstinate and consistent.

"...two wishes?"

"I will reach the Hackham terminus in approximately 21 minutes. Of course, if you're debarking earlier...?"

I planned on getting off at the University, but skipping my early Stats lecture was a fond recurring wish. Now it seemed I could do better.

"So there's no way I can ask for extra wishes?"

"Buddy, you study Computer Science and you seriously ask me to execute an open ended recursive algorithm between now and the Hackham terminus?! Am I some kind of time traveller? Moore's Law has given you unrealistic expectations."

Uh, okay then. I attempted to revise my expectations accordingly.

"What if I said - hypothetically only, you understand - that I wished the toy boat my grandfather gave me on my sixth birthday was blue instead of red? Would it always have been blue, or would it only be blue now? In my wallet I have a photograph of him holding it...."

"There you go again, chum. Look, I don't get to mess around with time. I'm a bus driver. If I could manipulate time, there would be all kinds of scheduling issues. Stick to the simple things that don't require paradox, eh?"

"Simple things like, say, world peace?"

"Dude, that would ultimately come back to bite your sorry ass. You'd end up with worldwide zombification; people wandering the streets without an original thought to disagree over. Conflict is the price you pay for free will and imagination. Don't think you can just say "world peace", and leave me to sort out the details."

The bus driver paused to navigate the Stirling Road roundabout, and his voice dropped to a mumble.

"Actually, I'm not really that powerful...."

"Well, well! You've been dishing out a lot of snark for a genie who is 'not really that powerful', haven't you?"

"Look, bud. I hate my job. I didn't ask to be a bus driver. The only way for me to level up is to grant wishes, and usually they're nice and easy, like 'I want a seat well away from the man doing the unpredictable shouting', or 'I hope my fly isn't undone so the girl by the door won't laugh at my Spiderman undies'. My goal is to do my thing and avoid talking to morons. You're making that hard to achieve. So, about your next two wishes...?"

"What are your limits, then? What can you do? What happens if I wish something you can't grant?"

"More questions? Dude! If I can't do it, I refund the wish and you try again. You're a clever boy, so start with the hard ones and work your way down until something sticks. And... I'm pretty much limited to the affairs of public transport."

"What the ...? A public transport genie? Wow, that's gotta be near the bottom of the pile."

"Yeah, laugh it up, buddy. I was only a Lost Keys Imp this time last year, so you can't tell me I'm not making progress. Plus, if it wasn't for me, you'd be walking - and I can still make that happen."

I'd never formally ranked my numerous public transport desires, but with three more years of University and who knows how much commuting to work, I wanted to make it count.

"Can I have my own private bus?"

"Nope - not public transport, is it?"

"Free beer on the bus?"

"Nope - against Transit Authority rules, and more than my job's worth."

Not even genies mess with the TA, apparently.

"Alright, I wish Stella was here riding this bus with me."

FOOF.

Stella appeared on the back seat, looking somewhat startled. I turned to wave, and she smiled uncertainly.

"And I want unlimited free transport - for me and a friend."

FOOF.

That's how I found myself standing at Stop 17B with a shiny new red bicycle. Stella blinked at me, then down at her own yellow bike.

"What's going on, Darren? I'm sure I was just on a bus, and then... another bus...?"

"Uh, I think you got knocked off your bike. Are you OK? Let me ride with you to class."

I guess it's like they say - nobody rides for free. Not on the bus, anyway. Still, Stella and I have ridden to Uni together every day since, so I'm not complaining.

And it's a pretty sweet bike....

"You know, we can get three cents apiece for the Old Glory bottles."

Zack was almost giddy, in an inebriated sort of way. The effects of the morning's cheap wine were wearing off, and he was anxious to feel the beginnings of his next buzz. Neither he nor Cooter had two dimes between them; neither could remember the last time they had any spending money at all. They begged daily for a morsel or a drink or another drink or another.

"Well, good luck, because it'll take pert near a hundred of them things to buy one bottle of Apple Dumplin'." Cooter was no less inebriated, but didn't have the eagerness, or the energy, that Zack had.

"Nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twen..." Zack suddenly stopped counting, and held up a bottle that neither he nor Cooter recognized. It was brown, like a beer bottle, but bigger, darker, totally opaque. Crusty dirt covered the best part of the bottle, revealing only a long, thin neck with the remnants of a label.

"What'n the hell is that thing"?" Cooter asked, reaching out with his dirty fingers and grabbing it from Zack's hand.

"Hey, now, wait one doggone minute here, Cooter. I found it; it's mine!" Zack reached out to snatch his find back, but Cooter was slightly less drunk than Zack, and slightly quicker.

Reaching for his pen knife as he rose, Cooter walked over to the nearest stoop in the empty lot where they were prospecting for bottles, sat down and started to scrape off the grime. He took his time digging through the dirt that protected their find, as if he were operating on a rare animal.

"Look. Here. There's a label right here, and I can almost make out ..." He kept digging through the caked on layers of time that encircled the brown glass, until he could just read the first few letters.

"G ... E ... looks like an M; no, an N ..." Cooter continued scraping the dirt from the bottle with his knife, until the label was almost legible. Once the bulk of the dirt was removed he held the bottle up, trying to read the label, but it was still too buried behind years of grime.

With his by now dirtier fingers, Cooter rubbed the bottle, dislodging what remained of the filth, held up the bottle and read each letter aloud.

"G ... E ... N ... I ... E ... it says 'Genie's Ale'. Don't reckon I've ever heard of that mix before." Cooter rubbed the bottle one last time and put it to his nose, as if some scent were still alive.

Zack slurred, "Now, dammit, I found that bottle. By rights it belongs to me."

Without turning around, Cooter held the bottle away from Zack and yelled, "I wish like hell you'd just shut up."

And he put the bottle to his nose again, sniffing as if it were a rare wine, instead of some foreign ale long ago gone from memory. The label was so colorful, so captivating, that Cooter just sat on the stoop, staring at it, mesmerized by the 'Genie's Ale' written in Gaelic script, wondering where it came from. It never dawned on him to look over his shoulder at a now silent Zack, who was holding his throat, trying his best to speak, unable to make a sound. His eyes bulged as his mouth formed words that never came.

No, Cooter couldn't take his eyes from that label, and the shape of the bottle, enticing him to have a taste. He held the bottle over his head, looking up into the open neck, trying to see through the dark brown glass up to the empty bottom.

"Boy, I sure wish there was a mouthful left in there."

His eyes started to sting. He wasn't sure what it was at first, but his face, and his dirty coat, was suddenly wet. The smell of ale rose to his nostrils and he sputtered, coughing up whatever it was that Zack had poured on him.

He dropped the bottle, the mysterious bottle with the beautiful label, wildly grabbing for it as it fell, but he couldn't see. He wiped his coat sleeve across his face, clearing his eyes, expecting to see brown glass scattered at his feet. Instead he saw Zack, holding his throat with one hand and the bottle in the other.

"What in the hell did you pour in my face, you idiot?" Cooter screamed without rising. "Whatever it was, it sure hurt like hell."

But Zack didn't answer; he stood there grasping his throat with one hand, the bottle with the other, his eyes wide open.

"Goddamit, what was it?" Cooter yelled even louder now, and started to rise. Zack slowly backed away from him, but said not a word.

"Good lord, Zack, I wish you'd say something." Cooter was now standing face to face with Zack, his eyes almost as wide open as Zack's, and his face bright red from anger.

Zack's hand suddenly dropped from his throat. He looked at the bottle that Cooter had held, at the glass that Cooter had rubbed, at the label extolling the virtues of a genie ... and then he looked into Cooter's eyes, and yelled:

"This is my bottle!!!"

And Zack turned and ran away.

I, or rather my foot, found it the hard way.

With a soft curse at the sharp object that sliced through my boot and into my big toe, I look down at the odd metal thing that attacked my foot. It is dirty and rusty, making me thankful for the tetanus shot I had been required to get the week before I deployed here to Vancadia to help the people of Silver Leaf Territory after a series of tornadoes laid waste to their village.

The object is partially buried under dry, crumbling mud, and removing it proves to be no difficult task thanks to the tool kit I bring with me every time I go somewhere. I am, after all, an archeologist.

I finish brushing the dried, caked-on silt, and carefully scour off some rust with my acid brush before rubbing a smudge off with my thumb. Whatever it is, there is a chance that it could have come from a beshara, a Feyen temple, and the metal item in my hands may be either a valuable piece of their cultural history or just something that had been blown away from the temple by the storm.

It takes some time, but I finally clear the dirt and rust off the item. It is a fine example of Fourth Century brassware decorated with delicately-etched grape leaves and clusters of grapes. On the front of the apple-shaped object is a feather in the midst of flames, the symbol of the Feyen faith.

Thibhidho, (pronounced Tee bee dah according to his bio) is an oedolyn newydd, a New Adult, or someone who has transitioned from youth to adulthood within the past year. He looks at the object with curiosity until he sees the feather. He holds his hands, palms together, up to touch his thumbs to his broad forehead just beneath his long horns.

I know from his reaction that it came from a beshara.

It appears to be a lamp or censer of some sort, the small loops on the top near the stem make it clear that it is meant to hang, and the dried mud coming out of it tells me it is hollow, meaning the etching is, in reality, carvings that allow the light or incense from inside the item to escape.

I turn it around carefully and spot a row of characters in the metal.

I use my acid brush to clear the writing off and slowly decipher the words because, unfortunately, Feyen is not a commonly-used language anywhere.

I can just make out the words.

Whosoever discovers this lamp and shall stroke it thrice, the same shall yet be granted three desires

Yeah, right, I sigh inwardly. Wishes do not come true.

Thibhidho cocks his head in curiosity and his tall, fuzzy ears swivel forward. He and many other oedolyn newydd are helping me bring fresh food and water to a nearby village. When I tell him what the words carved into the metal say, he suggests I give it a try.

Why not, he asks me. What is the worst that could happen, nothing?

I consider for a moment then sign back with a grin: What the heck? Why not?

After a moment, I decide what I will wish for, and I wonder if I should speak my wish aloud.

Among the Satyrs, as the people of Vancadia are called thanks to their resemblance to the human-goat hybrids of Greek mythology, prayers and wishes are spoken aloud. Satyrs believe that the more people who share in a wish or prayer, the better the chances of the wish being granted or the prayer answered.

What would Gryphon ask of the Creator of All Things? Thibhidho is rare among his people in that he is deaf, making Sign Language a necessary skill to communicate with him. This one would ask the Creator for ears.

I refrain from mentioning that he has ears because I know that in his culture, having ears means one can hear.

I understand his wish completely. Being deaf myself, I would love to be able to hear the cantor in my synagogue chant or hear a shofar, but I know not to be greedy or selfish. There are people who have greater needs than I, and their needs are the ones I wish for every time I blow out candles at the end of Shabbat or on my birthday cake or if I see a shooting star or break a wishbone and win the larger half.

My first wish is a simple one. I would wish for my sister to have been given one more week on the job before her entire section was sent overseas and she lost her job. Less than a week later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Had she been working just one more week, she would have qualified for extended insurance through the company.

If Elaine had had insurance, I might still have my sister. By the time the cancer was discovered, it had spread to too many parts of her body, and her doctors could not save her. Maybe if she had been able to afford that mammogram sooner, I would still have my sister.

My second wish is likewise nothing special. I would ask for a cure for Muscular Dystrophy. My young nephew struggles every day just to get through the day, and that with the help of a life-support-enabled wheelchair. To see him running and playing like a boy of nine should means more to me than anything. I know it would mean worlds to him and his parents.

My third wish... I would ask for Thibhidho to be granted the gift of hearing so he can hear hymns in the beshara, birds singing, and anything else he might want to hear.

I hand the lamp to Thibhidho who, eyes closed and ears down, softly rubs the lamp, touches it to his forehead, and raises it Heavenward to make his wishes.

David stared tiredly at the whiteboard. The solution just wasn't coming to him, and Jane was running out of time.

“I'd sell my soul for a good idea about now,” he thought.

Immediately there was a puff of yellow smoke, and you-know-who showed up.

“You are in luck today my boy, I am granting wishes. You can have three of them. And all it will cost you is...”

“My soul. I am familiar with the deal.”

“Not this time. I have a wager with the other side on this one. Free of charge. There are rules involved though.”

“OK, let's hear them.”

“You are familiar with the story of Job I take it?”

“Yeah, was it true?”

“Ah, a doubter. Even better. Yes, it was true. Put that man through the paces I did. Couldn't shake him no matter what was done to him though. I would like to tie the score now.”

“Why do I not get a good feeling about this?”

“I can't imagine. Ever read “The Monkey's Paw?”

“Yes, and I am now getting a really bad feeling about this.”

“Well there is a price to pay, and it is not necessarily your soul. Last question, have you ever played a role-playing-game?”

“I don't have much time for games.”

“No, your life has been dedicated to your work. OK, I will fill you in. The games allow you to put points on certain attributes when you gain levels. Where you put them affects what you are good at or bad at. For instance you might have four attributes: strength, agility, life, and energy.

“Sounds like a simplified version.”

“It is, the more complex the game, the harder it is to decide how to use the points. And you can end up late in the game wishing you had put two more points into strength for example, because a unique piece of armor is just beyond your use.”

“OK, so what does all this have to do with me and the three wishes?”

“Humans have those attributes. It is infinitely more complex than a game of course, but you now find yourself in the position of needing a few more points in wisdom and understanding.”

“To resolve my issue,” David said, staring at the whiteboard.

“To save your wife's life. The cancer has spread and you know it. You are going to have to come up with a cure for cancer in the near future to save it.”

“So I can wish for the answer?”

“Not exactly. You can wish to have more “points” in the areas you need to get the answer.”

“And the other two wishes?”

“The terms of the wager are that your total points can't change. You can wish to diminish up to two other attributes to make up for it.”

“I take it I can change any three attributes if I desire?”

“Yes, but you will not come up with the cure that way.”

“I don't suppose I can talk to the other side on this?”

“You can wish to have your faith attribute raised. Frankly it is really low right now though; which you already could guess.”

“I would assume it just went up though, since your appearance here confirms there is a Creator.”

“Yes, well regrettably you are going to go to sleep at your desk. You will remember what happened, but as low as faith is, you will probably chalk it up as a vivid dream. Besides, if you have chosen to raise your wisdom, you will be too busy writing down the answer to your problem to worry about it.”

“Well that simplifies it then. Take the points out of faith and put them into wisdom.”

“If I do that you will have no faith left.”

“So? Instead of Agnostic I become an Atheist.”

“No, if you take it down to zero you will have sold me your soul.”

“OK, good safety tip there. So what else can I take it out of?”

“Morality would be a good one.”

“And it means what?”

“You will lessen your ability to tell right from wrong.”

“I want to cure all cancer. What is wrong with that?”

“Have you considered the implications? Your work will do more than cure cancer. It will eliminate aging and most death from natural causes. You are going to make the human race virtually immortal.”

“Virtual means that we will not be immortal.”

“You can still starve, be shot, fall off a cliff, and die in war. That sort of thing.”

“I suspect people will become more careful with their lives if it means immortality.”

“I suspect they will not stop breeding though, and that is going to cause a problem since you are abolishing aging, your race will remain fertile forever.”

“Hmmm.. anything else we can take it out of. I will need to consider the implications.”

The devil shrugged. “Most of your other attributes are pretty low. If you take it out of life, you likely will die in your sleep before you can write the answer down. Take it out of stamina, and you are stuck in a wheelchair for life. As for luck, I am here, aren't I?”

“And you wouldn't be if I had any luck to speak of.”

“Exactly.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

“I will be back in fifteen minutes. You need to have an answer for me then. Here is a complete graph of your current attributes.”

David looked it over. "I will never be able to decipher this in fifteen minutes. If I can't use the wishes in that time period, what happens?”

“You lose the wishes, and Jane dies in 3 months after much pain. You know, you can always just let me decide what your other two wishes are."

"And you will take my soul?"

"No, I lose the bet if I do that. I will set the other attributes so I win it. It will not be important to you personally either way."

"And to the human race?"

With that the devil disappeared, and David weighed the implications.

The sleepy sun was sinking slowly, apparently gliding into the depths of the ocean. The watcher stood, tired eyes appreciating the clichéd scene before them. Sighing reflectively, the figure turned back to the narrow beach, and his fugue was immediately interrupted by a stubbed toe. Wincing with pain, he stared in the fading light at the metal shape, half-buried in the sand. Beach material was quickly smoothed away to reveal what looked like a battered, round tin, not more than five inches long. The lone man creased his brow in puzzlement, gently carressing a cold metallic surface. There was something intoxicating in that small object; something almost hypnotic in its graceful iridescence…

He looked up sharply, suddenly aware of another presence. A strange figure stood before him, and with it came a vague sense of unease. There seemed to be a faint glow emanating from this vision, making it stand out against the encroaching gloom.
After a few silent moments, the man realised that whenever he concentrated on where the face should be, his view was gently nudged aside, making it impossible to know what this stranger really looked like. There was something else �" a feeling that this thing was viewing him in a most peculiar way. If there had been an identifiable face, it would almost certainly have been smiling; slickly, unpleasantly, and perhaps betraying a certain alarming prescience.

The apparition seemed to be expecting something, and its sole viewer felt a faint nagging sensation at the back of his mind. The words, ‘yes, master?’ asserted themselves in his consciousness. Clutching his head, he heard himself say, ‘oh god, it’s finally happened. I’m cracking up.’
The reply seemed to drift into his brain, like picturesque clouds through a summer sky; ‘no, master, you have woken the genie. That is all.’
‘Genie?!’ He could feel the hysteria rising. ‘I wish I could believe that!’ The laughter shattered the relative peace of the beach, then subsided as the thoughts hardened.
This was indeed a genie. No doubt about it.
Recovering from his outburst, he looked at the figure once more. It had not moved, and there was still no sign of a face.
‘You have had your first wish. You have two left. Master.’ The last word seemed to be an afterthought.
‘Well. Umm…’ a sigh overtook him and he chortled. ‘I wish I knew what to ask for.’
That ethereal voice sidled into his mind once again; ‘one wish left, master.’
There was a brief pause, and then, ‘I wish…’ he started, staring into nothing. ‘I wish the world would stop changing.’
There was the faintest fluttering sensation in the back of his mind, as though a ghost was flittering away. And then he was alone once more on a beach that had become strangely alien.

The lone figure shivered. But not from cold, from that indescribable feeling of not-quite-right-ness. The air seemed inexplicably still as he tried to reason with himself. The workload had been heavy of late, and presumably the stress had affected him… His train of thought ground to a halt at the sight of a seagull frozen in the air. It had obviously been coming into land and had just stopped, apparently defying the laws of gravity. The gull had apparently been painted against a background of small waves, similarly frozen.

By now the watcher could barely contain himself. Ragged breaths ripping out of him as he remembered those last words - ‘I wish the world would stop changing.’ He scrambled up the beach towards the little town, almost certain of what would meet his eyes. Despite having prepared himself, the shock still hit him like a blow to the stomach. The entire vista lay frozen. An elderly man had paused indefinitely in the middle of the road. At the restaurant, a glass lay motionless in the air, contents spilling through the night. All along the sea-front, similar scenes met the eyes of the horrified wisher. He alone had been spared, to witness this hell. Emotions overcame him, as he fell to his knees and wept, tears tracing rivulets through the sand on his trousers.

A little way away, in the bowels of an old tin, thin whisps of smoke congealed into a sly smile, as a strange creature wondered why no-one ever wished to know the meaning of life.

There was always something to be found on a beach. Sometimes it was solitude, other times it was a decent party. And on those rare occasions it was something more than that. Those were the rare occasions worth writing about. Those were the times that a glint of metal in the sun amongst all the sand and surf could lead to an adventure. Be it a buried pirates treasure, some lost watch with a tale to tell, or a magic lamp.

Just picking up such a treasure was enough to make someone know they had found something great. Old and dull, the sheen long since worn away to the times, unsightly dents in it’s once pristine features, it was still a sight to behold. At the very least an Antiques Roadshow type find, a moment’s fame on television for showing up with a rare seventeenth century cheap lamp. At best? Well it would make a nice trinket for mom’s curio cabinet. Nothing beats a cheap birthday gift!

Rubbing the lamp provided a clue as to it’s true value though. Smoke bellowed from the long slender neck, and suddenly a form stood on the beach, an ancient looking old man, beard growing down to his knees, a walking stick made of a birch branch holding his frail form upright.

It was a shock to be standing there as the elderly man stared back at me, having appeared from seemingly nowhere. The childhood stranger danger warnings flashed through my mind. But he raised a frail hand, the fingers thin and boney, and held up three fingers.

Three fingers. The meaning was lost on me. I moved to speak and stopped myself, afraid I would break the spell, awaken from the dream, not see where everything led. He simply nodded. Three fingers. And a word entered my mind. ‘Wishes.’

And I knew. Three wishes. A genie. How more zany could it be? Those thoughts lasted only a moment though. It was THREE WISHES! Why ponder it! Just go for it!

And I did. The first wish was simple and typical. A million dollars. I wanted a million dollars. The old man, the genie, grinned and nodded his head. One finger slowly folded down towards his palm. And a large ancient looking sack appeared, filled to the brim! I was rich! RICH! Forget the other wishes! I dug into the sack, pulled out a handful of the... slimy little night crawlers... I dropped them in disgust, stared at the elderly genie. A million night crawlers? How wrong could a wish go? The old man seemed unphased, continued to smile, and said nothing at all. He simply waved his hand, two fingers still standing high, in my face.

I sighed and shook my head. “No... I want to be rich! Make me RICH!” I shouted, the old man continued to grin, and one finger slowly lowered down. And a cloud of smoke surrounded us both. This would be it. Fortune here I come! I could feel it, like a tingling all over me. A tingling that continued to grow, I scratched my chest, my legs, the itching just continued, like a million insects crawling over my skin at once, impossible to fully ignore.

I itched. I wasn’t rich at all... but I was an itch. Now anyone smart would have walked away at that point. I was a glutton for the punishment apparently. And I stood my ground, grit my teeth and ignored the urge to scratch. “Fine, make me a millionaire! I want to be a millionaire!”

The genie’s last finger lowered and another cloud of smoke appeared. Seconds passed with nothing. Minutes past of nothing. And when the clouds finally cleared I was standing on another beach, soldiers in Roman uniforms swarmed past me, my own clothes having faded and changed to that of a Roman Legionnaire. And in that last moment before my memories of the modern world faded and I became a part of the past... well I wished I had simply wished for the genie to get a hearing aid.

Every morning after a storm I walk the beach looking for unusual shells that wash up from the depths of the ocean. I have found some pretty unique shells. Once I even found a message in a bottle from 40 years ago from a child looking for a friend that moved overseas. I still have it sitting on a mantle at the house.
Last night we got the edges of a hurricane so I expect to find lots of treasures as I venture out onto the beach just as daylight peaks over the edge of the sea. I had only walked a short distance when I found what looked like a bottle all covered with seaweed. I pulled off all I could, stashed it in my bag and continued my search.
Once I got back home with all my treasures I sat down on the porch and pulled them all out. There were several large shells and the bottle. As I got more of the seaweed and barnacles off I saw it was a very old lamp. It looked like a genie lamp that you would see in the movies. I let out a little chuckle thinking the impossible, that an actual Genie would emerge if I rubbed hard enough. Well being unable to resist I found an old rag and started rubbing all the grime off the lamp and to my utter amazement the old thing started to shake so bad that I dropped it on the porch and backed up as smoke begin to blast out of the little hole at the end. And sure enough there standing right in front of me was a big funny looking man in what could only be described as aladdins clothes. He really looked like a genie from the movies. At least he looked happy it would be bad to get a mad one I guess.
After he did a couple of stretches he bowed and said “Oh thank you so much it is quite small in there and it has been such a long time since I have been out and able to talk with someone. Talking to yourself can drive you quite mad after several hundred years.”
I just stood there staring unable to find a voice to answer him with. He finally asked, “Do you speak”. I nodded and cleared my throat, “I am just not sure what to say, because as mad as you may be talking to yourself I am now talking to a being that up until now was just the product of someone else’s imagination.” “Well”, he responded, “As you well know from the imagination of someone else you are allowed 3 wishes to be granted. And before you ask I cannot make you wealthy, I cannot give anyone money. Your wishes must not require something material.”
I sat and thought for a moment and finally had an answer, “I would like my family to live long healthy lives and be prosperous in their endeavors.” He sat their quiet for a few minutes and finally agreed to this wish then came the but….”I can make this wish but it is actually 2 wishes, to be healthy and to prosper so that leaves you with only one wish left,” then he added, “once you make your final wish I will return to the bottle and you must return me to the sea so that I can wash up on someone else’s shore.
As I sat there and thought about my last wish my eyes wondered to the bottle on the mantle with the letter in it. I got up and retrieved it from the shelf and gave the letter to the genie, “I would like for you to find this little girls friend.” He read the letter then in a poof he disappeared. It was 2 days before he returned. Just before he turned in to a puff of smoke he said, “Your last wish has been granted,” and then he was gone back into the lamp. A few days later I took the boat out into the ocean and threw the genie in the lamp overboard.
Two weeks later I got a letter in the mail. It was from the little girl in the bottle who was now 52 years old. She sent me a picture of her and her friend and thanked me for helping them find each other again. Every time I walk down the beach now I look for that bottle and when I wonder if it was all a dream I reread the letter from 2 lost friends who found each other, and know that miracles do happen.

The ship approached the target planet, chaos all around on board. Various parts were failing, and the ship was more falling then it was sailing through space.
The beings aboard weren’t human. It’s hard to say what they were. They don’t call themselves anything, because words weren’t something they used. Neither was a body. They didn’t need to be constrained by the limitations of words for communication, instead having several levels of psychic communication at their disposal.
The ship was about to destruct. There was only one option left. Emergency disembarking. The ship then burst into flames as the final parts failed.

Harry and Jane were lying on the grass on their first date staring at the sky. It was night and they were enjoying being alone together, and having the stars all to themselves.
“...and that's Orions belt over there, the bright line of three stars” said Harry pointing into the darkness.
“Look!” Jane exclaimed. “A shooting star! Quick, make a wish”
They both closed there eyes and wished.

The next day they woke up next to each other. Over breakfast, Jane thought back to the night before and asked, “You remember that shooting star last night? Well, did your wish come true?”
Harry looked up and gave a broad smile. “Yup. And yours?”
“Well, I just made the standard wishes, but we’ll see!”
Jane went to newsagents and purchased a lottery ticket picking six random numbers.
Sure enough, all the numbers came up that night. Jane was suddenly a millionaire. They celebrated together, and romance grew.

From then on, Jane couldn’t make a single wrong choice. She went to the casino and won on all the tables. Went to the horses and always picked the winner.

Things were good. She became rich, she got rid of Harry as he seemed to be only interested in her money and got herself a young rock star for a boyfriend, became famous in all the glossy magazines for her rich lifestyle and had everything she could hope for. But she didn’t stay happy forever. Things got boring. Life became dull, and seemed too easy. As she became sadder, she also became ill. The best doctors in the world couldn’t understand what was wrong with her, they put her weak limbs and colourless skin down to a loss of interest in life, which was partially true.

One day she went to a concert, and on the way in, she passed a group of children running around, laughing and having fun. One of them accidentally ran into her.
“Watch where you’re going you little brat!” she screamed
The boy looked up at her with wide eyes, his face a picture of shock. Then he laughed. Jane suddenly gasped and felt like she had her insides ripped out. A mist of white light came out of her and shot into the boy. The boy, still laughing, staggered back a step and then ran off.

Jane fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Looked at her pale withered hands and saw them slowly regain colour. Her strength was coming back to her, she stood up, and her legs had grown stronger too. She continued into the concert, her body miraculously healed, but still didn’t feel any cheerier.

She thought back to that day she won the lottery which propelled her to where she was now, and thought of the shooting star the night before. Had her wishes come true? Or was it a coincidence? That night she had felt like the happiest girl on earth, was it her wishes that made her miserable? Was she being punished for what she wished for? the ultimate punishment must be to be given what you want, for there was nothing more she wanted. Her wishes, to fall in love, be rich and famous, had all come true. Perhaps she should have wished for happiness. Her musings continued, as did her lacklustre existence, coming to an end some years later with a drug overdose.

The boy ran off and continued playing games. When he was tired, he ran over to his uncle. His uncle tossed a coin, and the boy guessed tails. He was right. The coin went up again and again, each time the boy guessed the right answer.

The aliens survived on this earth for a good few years, jumping from host to host, but as with all species, soon died out, not being able to live in earths atmosphere without the protection of a host body.

Drats! Didn't people have the decency to waste like they used to? Stupid greenies! They feed every stray whining mangy cat on the block but forget to put out a few leftovers in the dumpster for the neighborhood homeless after drinking their non-homogenized milk and slurping their wussy tofu. Anabel slammed his greasy fist against the empty dumpster. Scratching his neck idly the man's fingers leisurely wandered around pores the size of quarter pounders with cheese, searching for a bit of something to scratch. They rolled something gummy around until it curled up in self defense. Scabs �" the best form of free entertainment. Anabel sighed again, just to hear his self-pity aloud. Sometimes self-pity was the best company you had. On the edge of his vision a flash of light wiggled it's sequined hips. Anabel flicked off the scab with a jerk of his thumb, cocking his head to one side curiously. Dandruff dirt fell on his shoulder. What was that?
A drop of drool crept out of the corner of Anabel's mouth. His saliva glands thought it was an aluminum foil wrapper, maybe from Big Boy Burgers. His nostrils told his saliva glands they were stupid. The light flashed again. His stomach grumbled agreement with the saliva glands. Oh well, what was it them fancy people said �" “Say la Vee?” Anabel ambled over to a heap of garbage quivering in fear behind a rusty trashcan. Bending down slowly, fastidiously careful not to step on the hem of his over-large fur coat (he had only stole it last week), the man dragged his hand through the junk like he was fishing for a shark with it. A car rumbled by the alleyway, wedging a brief slice of light between the brick walls. There! A beam of silver shot out of the urban compost. It was no burger bundled in a beautiful silver wrapper, just an electrical plug. His teeth ground together hungrily. Through old plastic milk bottles and wet newspapers Anabel groped blindly, like a woman trying to find keys in her purse. Some things were put in his pocket, and some were tossed over his shoulder to skitter towards their freedom in the shadows.
A sudden glow ahead illuminated several abandoned soup cans. The light flickered on and off frailly. A whistle of glee sizzled through Anabel's lips. A lamp! One that worked! Anabel stroked the cheap department-store base while his sluggish mind tapped his shoulder nervously. What was that? It wasn't plugged? How could it �" oh. But before he could reflexively drop the hot strangeness a voice spoke. “Thank GOD! I thought no one would ever come!” Anabel saw two hot eyes glinting in the flaking bronze finish; coins at the bottom of a golden wishing well. A tongue flicked out and began rasping over fur, smothering the voice. “You understh tud tha morfs code, didm you? Ram ther clever lil-fel idea of dth mine, I dghought.” The flimpsy lamp shade was clattering anxiously in agreement with Anabel's shaking hands. It's bare bulb glared steadily up at him like a single horrible eye. “You can talk?” He whispered feverishly to the lamp in his hands. “No you idiot! Lamps don't talk. I can talk,” said the voice behind him.
Anabel's head whipped around. Dandruff snowed. A ragged tortoiseshell cat sat in the alley, frozen awkwardly in the middle of an embarrassing ritual of a rather private nature. It gagged suddenly and went rigid right down to the scraggly stump of it's tail. The cat heaved. Something hairy erupted from it's throat and flopped on the concrete like a drowned toupee. The cat burped loudly and continued. “Lamps talking! It's a ridiculous idea, AND stupid. Now!” he spat haughtily, “what do you want?” Anabel pointed, and garbling half-intelligibly. The cat squinted disbelievingly. “What the�" eiii... Do. You. Speak?” The cat rolled it's green-as-new-astroturf eyes irritably. “YES! It can be anything. NO! It cannot be another wish, and I'm fresh out of hot blueberry flapjacks so go to frigg'n IHOP.” The cat glanced around and shrugged it's thin shoulders at Anabel. “Well?” The sound of another car excused itself sheepishly as it squeezed between the talking cat and the silent man. “Tell you what,” the cat said abruptly, “I'll give you the standard package �" woman, riches, fame �" and if there is anything, anything at all that you aren't completely satisfied with then you let me know and I will make absolutely sure to completely possibly never refund you. Does that sound good?” The man gulped sharply. “Hairball?” The cat asked with mock politeness. Anabel hacked up a tangle of words. “Ummm. Well. I cant believe �" what I, what I would like is to be called Sir, AND have a job. Not just any job �" a job of a plum!” “Aplomb”, the cat corrected, smiling as it shook a leg in an exaggerated stretch. “You know...I'm kinda tired, and it's kinda late. Uh, why don't you just take mine? I don't really need it and you are in the market. It's got great fringe benefits and hey, i'll even toss in free housing.” The cat sauntered past the crouching shadow, stopping to pat it's arm in what he thought was a comforting manner. “Just flicker on and off if you need me”. Anabel frantically counted his fingers as the cat turned around at the mouth of the alleyway. “Right, I almost forgot your third wish.” The green eyes stared fixedly for a moment, then left. Anabel looked down at a cardboard box with the words “Big Boy Burger” emblazoned on it's top. He wiped a smear of ketchup off the corner and squinted to read the small words underneath. “One emergency wish. Up sized. Pull handle to activate.” Anabel reached up to scratch his head. Flakes of cheap bronze finish fell.

But the genie was different from the legions that I have heard. He had red bracelets on each wrist. He had what looked like scares on his face with patterns I have never seen before. He was taller than me but not by much. He wore a hat with a blue diamond in the middle with a glow like a light house. As he spoke I felt as if I was talking to 5000 people with voices in unison. “What do you wish of me” he spoke as his words echoed along the hills and could be heard from miles away. I was speechless and just stared at him, and he stared right back. His eyes were like blue and red lightning bolts. Silence as I stared, out of know where he starts speaking in his bone shattering voice “I am the genie of the lamp I will give you three wishes and no more, after you use your third and final wish I will vanish and never come to you again. Fate has chosen few, now what do you wish of me?” I Thought to myself “what do I need, what do I want, what do I seek”. I did not know, at the same time I did not want to give this opportunity up. What should I wish for? The first thing that came to my mind is money and riches but then I stopped. I only have three wishes. I did not want to have ordinary things. I stared across the water then it came to me, “I wish I had the powers of “Aqua man”. At first nothing happened, I felt the same. “Did it work” I asked the genie. He just nodded; I dived into the ocean, I could see the coral wreaths with fishes thriving in between the crevasses. I could talk to them like they were normal people. I shot out of the water and rushed back to the genie laughing out of joy. The genie did not say anything but just stood there with a sad look on his unique face. The diamond on his head looked dimmer and I saw his bracelets where gone but I didn’t think anything of it. He spoke “what will be your next wish”. But this time his voice was smaller, like a soft shout in the dark. I was too excited to care and tried to think what my second wish should be. All I could think about was the ocean, I looked up I saw a small bird pass by. “I wish I had the power to fly”. I shot up into the air my hair flying in the wind as I rushed past wisps of clouds hearing the wind past my ears. I shot down into the water and shot back out again like a cannon ball laughing all the way, it must have been for hours. I zoomed to the genie for my final wish. He was on the ground with the light in his hat barley glowing; his eyes lost their color along with their ability to sparkle with light. His arm wrapped around my neck and he pulled himself up, whispered in my ear” What is your final wish?” Then I realized what was happing, he was fading then I saw my arms, the bracelets he had before where on me. I felt my face and felt scars in various shapes. I looked at him and saw a boy a little older than me with sandy hair and blue eyes. I asked him “Who are you”. He looked at me with a blank impression. “I was once a boy like you. I came across the lamp and did the same as you” he laughed weekly. “The three wishes I had where gone before I knew it.” The genie faded and I never saw her again but at a last glimpse and saw a young girl. I couldn’t make my final wish I couldn’t even move I felt hot tears run down my lumpy face knowing that if I made one last wish I would kill a boy like me. He lay in my arms, silent with his head back and eyes closed. I held on to him close as if he was my brother. For hours I cried and stared at him as he grew pale. He asked me again “what is your third wish?” “I’m sorry” “just say your wish and be done with it.” Then I knew what I needed to do “I wish that we are back to normal with the genie curse destroyed. Once I said that final word the boy stood up; thanked me and walked away. He just went away and left me standing there on the beach. Then I felt a wave of saltwater upon my face and woke with a start. I looked around; there was no lamp, no genie, just the sand and the water. As I regained my mind I saw a small blue smooth rock on the sand with a red bracelet around it. I picked them up and looked at the sunset, I swore saw a boy smiling in the last light of the sun.