3 Wishes (a short story)

Humans had become very distrustful, it seemed.

A centuries-old genie was presenting three humans with, what he thought, was an amazing opportunity. During an amateur fossil hunt, they had stumbled upon his lamp and while cleaning their find, evoked the jinn.

"Purely on accident," they insisted "so sorry to have woken you."

The genie was used to humans being demanding and ungrateful so he found the courtesy shown to be a pleasant surprise. He assured them it was no problem at all, he'd been eager to stretch his legs for some time now,and happily offered his services to what appeared to be a group of very nice people.

"As you may already know from lore, I am able to grant three wishes. Unfortunately, I may only grant three at a time so you will have to split the wishes amongst yourselves. One wish per individual is still not so bad, though!" He cheerily exclaimed, not without hope that this group would be the ones to finally use one of their wishes to free him from his servitude.

Instead, they had responded with suspicion.

"Where are the loopholes?" One middle-aged man wearing too-large spectacles and freshly-pressed khakis asked.

"Loopholes?"

"Yes, you know, loopholes. For example, if I wish for immortality will I be condemning myself?"

"What? Condemning yourself? I don't think I underst-"

"If I choose immortality, I will have to watch the ones I love wither away, yes? Suppose I am able to wish for my own immortality as well as that of another! Would this be possible?"

"Ah! But who would you choose?" The other man interjected before the genie could respond. He was a stout man of about the same age, perhaps a few years older, with a thick, gray mustache. "Even if you chose someone you think you truly love now, whose to say you won't tire of them in time? My goodness, Elizabeth and I have only been together for 20 years and she already drives me crazy!" He nearly yelled with mirth.

The genie opened his mouth to speak when the other human, a woman in her mid-to-late thirties with wild, dirty blonde hair spoke.

"While all that may be true, you would have a million lifetimes of new love to compensate for it! What a romantic possibility!"

"Indeed it is! But there are other factors involved here. Tell me, genie, if I am to become immortal and there is a horrible disaster that leads to the end of Earth as we know it, what happens to me then?"

"I cannot grant immortality" The magical being said, relieved to finally having gotten a word in. "I technically could, but I would not on sheer principle. Anyone wishing for immortality would be forced to take my place inside the lamp. If I were the selfish sort I may want someone to do so that I may be released from my prison, but my hopes are that one day someone, out of the kindness of their own heart, will wish to-"

"Ah, that is quite the loophole! Well, what are our other options then? I suppose we may wish for wealth or beauty but even then..."

It was at this point the jinn stopped listening. They obviously had no interest in what he had to say and all kindness they had shown seemed to have been stemmed from a false sense of etiquette. The three discussed their ideas in excited tones, pointing out the specifics that could go horribly wrong in each scenario. As they did so, the genie amused himself by drawing figures in the dirt with a stick he had found. About an hour passed and he had completed a fairly detailed portrait of his late wife when they called for him.

"Oh, Genie! Yoohoo! We've made our decision."

Although he had realized his chances were slim, his ears perked up at the prospect of being freed.

"Yes! What may I do for you, my masters?"

"We would each like to order a nice lunch, please. I would like a chipotle chicken club on wheat, light mayo and easy on the tomato. Oh, and just a sparkling water with lemon to drink."

The genie stared expressionlessly at the bespectacled man. He had been forced to do many thing during his stay in the lamp, but play waiter was not one of them.

The frizzy-haired woman must have taken his silence for patience and began her own order.

"I would just love a veggie wrap with avocado ranch and a diet soda...oh, you know what? I've been good, I think I'll splurge a little! Give me a regular soda." She smiled with self-satisfaction at her choice and made a hand motion towards her portly companion.

"Well, let's see here...I'm not really all that hungry at the moment," He trailed off while stroking his facial hair, "so I suppose I'll just have bruschetta and a sweet tea."

After another period of silence the genie finally spoke.

"You want...lunch?"

"Yes, I thought we made that clear. Would you like us to repeat our orders?"

"No, I just-"

"Oh! And nothing of this meal must be harmful to anyone at all! This means nothing we are allergic to and nothing poisonous."

"What? Of course! I would never-"

"A table to eat on would be lovely, as well. If it's not too much to ask, of course."

"And chairs! Don't forget chairs!"

"Ah yes! Chairs! Also, if you could make my sandwich with free-range chicken, that would be great."

The genie, too much in shock to do anything else, summoned their meals on a decent-enough looking dining table and took his leave back into his lamp. The meal was indeed, very good. Not the best they had ever had, but they all agreed it was much better than the little Italian place they sometimes spent their lunch breaks at. They all felt very pleased with the fact that they had managed to avoid an unfortunate fate based on a technicality and toasted their drinks to their own wit. Their delight, however, was ended abruptly when they remembered they had been horribly lost in the desert for about 3 hours and no one had thought to wish for a map.




Note: I rarely write fiction, so go easy on me.

Handsome "average Joe" is down on his luck and needs money for his mother's operation. He kidnaps a wealthy heiress for the ransom. Holed up in his dank, one bedroom apartment they learn they're not so different...and a little about love.

There, I wrote a script for a Lifetime movie. Now where can I pick up my check?

I will never, ever be cool.

If you watch the news, you know that what’s hot right now is a drug that simultaneously kills brain cells, rots your teeth, gives you wrinkles, makes you crazy, and gets you pregnant. And all your of 12 year old children are huffing it behind the jungle gym.

If you read fashion magazines, you know that what’s hot right now is eating nothing but kale until you are skinny enough to fit into that itchy, wool shawl that makes you look 30 pounds heavier anyway.

If you have ever talked to me for more than 5 minutes, you know that I have no idea what is cool.

The whole “liking something because other people don’t” fixation makes little to no sense to me. Does this mean I shouldn’t be caught dead eating Twizzlers anymore? Or that if I’m seen wearing pants I’ll become a social pariah? I’m not sure if anyone has noticed, but Twizzlers and wearing pants are pretty popular.

I have never been able to keep up with trends. It’s not that I’m some elitist that refuses to take part, it’s just I never really “get it” until it’s too late. I started listening to bands that would be considered emo years after all the scene kids abandoned their black hair dye and jelly bracelets. I only realized how much I liked PBR once the hipsters decided it was too mainstream. All of my friends are posting Facebook statuses in the vein of “Ugh, I’m so tired of dubstep” while I’m left exclaiming “Hey, this Vaski guy is pretty neat!”

It seems like you can only like something if everyone else hates it. This is something I have trouble with, as I have the tendency to like things. Horrible, I know.

If I had to guess what is in right now or what may become the new “it” thing in the future, this is what I would guess:

Oil paintings depicting hardcore bestiality

Poison-laced harmonicas

Dildos made of repurposed vinyl records

Polka

Those sneakers that light up when you walk

Diets consisting only of foods that have been genetically modified

Body hair (this one is actually wishful thinking, I hate shaving)

Dudes in dresses (also wishful thinking, I dig thighs)

I’m kind of just taking a stab in the dark with this list. Maybe stabbing people in the dark is cool, too. You never know. I really hope that at least one of these things become hip. Then, when an old gentleman asks me what’s all the rage with the whippersnappers these days I can respond with confidence and the hope he has delicious caramel candies in his pocket that he will reward me with for being such a nice young lady. Little does he know what a terrible, uncool person I am…haha, gotcha, gramps!

I know I’ll never be chic or contemporary. This is something I was forced to come to terms with in my angsty teenage years. When I was 14, I tried really hard to be a metalhead. I refused to listen to anything that didn’t have a “kick-ass breakdown”. I wore heavy black eyeliner that would streak down my face when I sweat and pants with an unreasonable amount of zippers and chains. I started saying things like “Fuckin’ A” and “Man, you just don’t get it.” At family barbeques, I’d sit inside so that I could keep my complexion a nice pasty white. I put this incredible amount of pressure on myself to fit into this mold and when I finally felt like I had fully embodied this subculture, everyone in my high school was listening to Taking Back Sunday and “skunking” their hair. Now that I am older and (slightly) wiser I have to admit: I never really liked death metal all that much. There are a few bands I love to this day and I’m a big fan of those who are on the border between hard rock and straight metal…but for the most part, death metal kind of just gives me a headache.

After realizing I liked wearing clothes that weren’t strictly black, I drifted into this odd 80s obsessed phase. I began wearing brightly colored plastic hair accessories and a single dangling earring. I can’t even begin to describe how much animal print was incorporated into my wardrobe. At the peak of this atrocity, I chopped all my hair off and dyed it red in an effort to look like Molly Ringwald. After that, I slowly morphed into a sort of modern day hippie, going as far as scribbling peace signs and Fleetwood Mac lyrics on my jeans with permanent markers. I even started going barefoot everywhere, school included. That one stopped abruptly when I saw someone spitting on the hallway floor (besides, I was tired of getting my toes stepped on). When the allure of being a wannabe hippie faded, I thought I was punk for awhile. I replaced pants with plaid skirts and ripped stockings, I knew all the words to my Ramones greatest hits album, I had a ridiculously short, hot pink mohawk, and I briefly dated a shaggy-haired skateboarder who was in this like, super awesome band that you should totally check out on myspace! I thought I was really, really cool. I was a trend-setter! But I just looked like kind of an idiot.

Not only was keeping up with these self-imposed stereotypes tiring, but it eventually dawned on me that none of these things were ever fashionable with my age group and most people just thought I was strange and probably a little creepy. These days my interests reflect what I actually like, not just an urge to rebel against the mainstream or alternatively to fit in with such. On occasion I attempt to look like a normal member of society (to make shoplifting easier, of course). I do the majority of my shopping at thrift stores so I’m always getting “last season’s” clothes. I didn’t grasp what the cool thing (or uncool thing, if you’re a hipster) to do was when I was younger and I certainly don’t now. Trying to do so just seems futile with my low attention span. I still love John Hughes movies, The Ramones, walking around barefoot and I think that I will always have an affinity for both animal prints and knee-high combat boots. Both my mother and my boyfriend think said boots are ridiculous but whatever, they just don’t get it, man!

Point is; I like way too much weird shit to ever commit to a style or fad. Hopefully being a self-loathing, sarcastic bitch will become the new hot thing but until then I guess I’ll just keep being myself and not worry about it.

Missed Connections: Booty Like a Rainbow (rough draft)

The February night air was frigid and my thin, hooded sweatshirt was hardly providing the warmth I sought. As a lonely young man of 28, I was merely a face in the crowd in the bustling streets of Philadelphia. Walking by myself, I turned onto a street that seemed oddly desolate for this part of the city. The empty chill my surroundings supplied only served to lessen my resolve to continue on my journey and when it began to rain I became desperate. When my glasses began to fog and slip down the bridge of my nose from the moisture,  I ducked in to the nearest store, seeking shelter from the storm for a moment.

The bright lighting of my new environment made me suddenly aware I had entered a Dairy Queen. It seemed like an odd place for anyone to be while the gray slush-like remains of snow still littered the roads but I suppose I was really in no position to make such a judgement, as I was currently standing in said establishment. I noticed my Che Guevara messenger bag was completely soaked and swiftly went into action in finding a table and checking for damages to my belongings. My Moleskine journal was only slightly damp but I set it on the surface of the chipped, ugly table to air out the pages just in case.  Rustling around in my bag, I came upon a bus token for my ride home, a pamphlet an exuberant religious nut had shoved my way at the Frankford Terminal, and a few crumpled dollar bills soaked from the horrid weather.

I placed my things, save for my money, back down on the table and lifted my head to really take in my surroundings for the first time since I walked in. It dawned on me that if I wanted to continue the enjoyment of my temporary haven, I'd probably have to make a purchase. My idea was to scan the menu for something mildly appetizing I could nurse as I waited for the rain to slow, but what I saw distracted me from any previous intentions.

She was a vision. Clad in skin-tight booty shorts with the word "Juicy" written across her bottom, a boast I wouldn't dare to disagree with, and legs that seemed to go on for days. Her long, yellow hair flowed behind her, playing across the back of her shimmering gold tube top. I could only assume from her outfit that her blood was so thick and warm that the freezing temperatures outside did not effect her. Her skin, a hue of orange I had never seen before, shone against the fluorescent lighting of the ice cream freezer beside her and made her hot pink lips look even more tantalizing amongst the contrast. Another asked for her name and when she said "Sarah" it sounded more like a musical note than anything that could be formed with the English language. Her acrylic nails tapped against the counter as she loudly berated the young cashier for skimping on the chocolate fudge upon her sundae and I was instantly taken. Here was a woman so obviously well versed in the irony of American culture that she lived it in every moment! Dreams of our future and what our children might look like danced in my head. My usually pessimistic mind was overloaded with a hope that I thought only the sight of a rainbow could induce. She truly had a behind that could only be described as such. A booty like a rainbow.

As I regained my composure, I was made conscious of the fact that she was heading out the door. I painfully stammered to myself, not knowing what to say. She seemed to look behind her shoulder for an instant, the smile in her eyes connecting with mine. That brief glance said more than words ever could. We were soul mates. She loved me. She wanted me. She needed me. She'd rather die than be without me. Alas, the charge of emotions must have confused and frightened her because as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. I felt myself falling into a hopeless void of despair with the thought of her shrill, grating voice the only thing keeping me from being pulled under.

Sarah, my angel with a bottom of refracted light, where could you be?  I ache for contact with you again, my colleague lives in the area and I frequently visit. I am already discussing renting a bedroom in his house to be closer to you. My heart is yours, as is my time. We could make this something beautiful.

Original post:

booty like a rainbow – m4w – 28 (philadelphia)
Date: 2011-02-10, 12:03AM EST
Reply To This Post

i saw you at the diary queen you girl got it goin on. i heard you say your name is sarah you were wareing that silky smoothe booty shorts with the name “juicy” . you got me thinkin about wanting to make babies sometimes soon. hit me up i know a dude there i hang out a lot

* Location: philadelphia
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2206584259

Keep in mind that this is only the rough draft. Sabrina will be editing it for me (and has already provided a ton of super useful suggestions) and I'll be tweaking a few parts.