Tricking The Trickster

I love a good second-hand shop. The dustier, the better. It’s like treasure hunting.

           What I hold in my hand is very clearly a lamp, exactly like what you’d expect to find a genie in, if you believe in that sort of thing. It’s dusty as heck, yet strangely, I’m not quite so sure I want to rub it.

           Examining it more closely, I series of thoughts occur to me, causing my attention to drift. If, by some miracle, a Genie did happen to pop out, I’d feel like using the wishes without having first paid for the lamp would inflict some kind of curse. I know how the stories go. The Genie always finds some technicality or loophole in the wording of the wish to use as a ‘gotcha’.

           Remembering where I am, I blink several times as my presence of mind returns.

           Deciding to take the lamp to the front counter, I ask, “How much for this?”

           The old woman behind the till, who must be wearing a thousand beads on her person, simply goes wide-eyed as if she’s seen a ghost, making me hope I’ll not need to call her an ambulance should she suffer a stroke.

           “Beware, young one,” she says. “The person who donated it said that it had only brought ruin to their life, consuming their happiness and ambition in a maw of greed. Take it if you will. Better for its taint to be far from here.”

           I’ve never been great at saying no to my curiosity, but I’ve at least managed to make it home before investigating my new acquisition more thoroughly.

           Placing it on the kitchen table, I scratch my chin, glaring at it ponderously. No amount of overthinking is going to change the consequences that knew I’d never be able to ignore their cause. I was never not going to rub this thing.

           Unbelievable as it may seem, I part of me isn’t surprised when green smoke starts emerging out of the lamp, eventually coalescing into a thin, pointy-eared, orange-haired figure in a pair of baggy white pants. One look in his sinister golden eyes tells me that whatever he has planned is unquestionably devious.

           “Clever little meatbag,” he says, dancing a brief jig. “Three wishes, you get. No more, no less.”

           I raise an eyebrow, considering what I’ve got myself into. “Just three? Okay. Any other rules I should know about?”

           There’s a hint of disappointment in his expression. “Clever still, ye remain,” he goes on. “Most aren’t cautions enough to ask, much to their folly. Well firstly, no wishing for more wishes. Secondly, no mind control. Thirdly, no killing or resurrecting. Fourthly, no wishes with the word ‘and’ in them. Fifth and finally, though this one is more a suggestion; be careful what you wish for,” he finishes with a sinister smile.

           Okay, I think to myself. Pretty straight-forward. I already know I need to be careful with how I word my wishes. It’s what you forget to say that these contracts catch you out on. I dare say this gremlin is about as trustworthy as an insurance salesman.

           I still can’t think what I want just yet though. Still, three wishes do give me room for a little trial and error. Even if I botch two wishes, that’s still one that I’m left happy with.

           Perhaps the smartest choice would be to use my first one as a safety net for the second two, I think. But how might I do that?

           “Alright, here’s my first wish,” I say, confidently. “I wish for every wish I make with you, including this one, to go exactly the way I intend.”

           The genie looks at me not with an expression of delight, but one of troubled perplexment. That’s got to be a good sign. Have I successfully stumped him? There’re surely no technicalities in the wording he can screw me on, and he knows it.

           “Define… ‘intend’,” He flatly asks, furrowing his brow.

           “Well, outside the rules you’ve laid out, your powers are unlimited, yes?” I rhetorically ask. “Therefor, you should be able to read my mind to know exactly how I want my wishes to turn out. If there’s anything about them that I’m unhappy with, it would mean you’ve not done exactly as I’ve asked.”

           He frowns. “You think yourself clever, do you?”

           “You did say, ‘be careful what you wish for’,” I answer, shrugging nonchalantly.

           “Very well. Wish granted,” he begrudgingly answers, snapping his fingers.

           It’s as if nothing’s happened. I’ll take that as a success, seeing as there’s nothing horrible that has occurred… yet. I guess I’m safe for now.

“Good,” I say, sighing with relief. “Ready for wish number two then?”

           His grin returns, though there’s a look of sarcasm in his eyes. “Please, I’m eager to hear it,” he says.

           I narrow my gaze. “I wish for the power to change reality as I see fit, merely by willing my desired outcome to happen.”

           His expression turns to disbelief, and he’s silent for a full ten seconds. “Change… reality?” He says slowly.

           “That’s basically what you do, isn’t it? You said nothing about giving me the same powers as you.” I reply, shrugging again. “You also said nothing about what I could do once I’d got my wishes, even if what I could wish for had restrictions. Explain to me how this wish breaks any of your rules?”

           He opens his mouth to speak but then goes still as a statue, lost for words. “Well, I can tell from your intent that there’s an enormous contextual background to that wish, that were one to put all of it into words, would surely violate each of my terms a million times over.”

           I raise my eyebrow in disbelief. “That’s a fallacious assumption,” I answer. “You are not doing any of the things that you said your rules prohibit. You’re just giving me the power to do them, which isn’t the same. You never said anything about how I could use my wishes once they’ve been granted.”

           “Some would argue that enabling another’s actions is the same as doing them yourself,” he answers, his smug grin returning. “Especially if you know the other person’s intent.”

           “Are you pre-emptively questioning my motivations?” I reply, tilting my head while offering a smirk of my own. “Intentions aside, I’d say there’s a clear distinction, despite the responsibility you’re implying, and since my intent from the last wish is what frames the confines of this one, my opinion is the one that matters here, therefore I respectfully disagree.”

           He frowns again. “You’re not technically wrong,” he struggles to say through gritted teeth. He’s angry; an even better sign.

           I know I’ve got him cornered now. Any argument he could possibly make has already been nullified by my first wish. If something goes wrong, all I’d need to say is, ‘That’s not what I meant,’ to get out of it, but he already knows that.

           “Very well,” he continues, taking a deep breath before snapping his fingers again. “Wish granted.”

           I suddenly feel a sense of clarity more evident than anything else I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if my mind is a pond so still that you’d think its surface was glass.

           Just looking at the genie tells me he’s tried everything possible to make my wishes backfire each time. It’s like a one-sentence summary of his thoughts has been beamed into my brain in the form of pure instinct. He tried; he really tried.

           I blink. Suddenly I’m in a forest teaming with noise and humidity; warm, green, and wet.

           I blink again. I’m back in my kitchen, facing the genie once more.

           He’s scowling at me with pure rage. “You’re a virus in the wishing code, you know that?” he spits. “You’ve patched every exploit before I could even open it.”

           “Think of it more as a factory reset,” I say. “Still, I’m not one to gloat,” I go on. “Truth be told, I don’t really need the last wish. You know what, here it is; I wish for you to be free, with me having no further dependence on you, nor any unintended consequences.”

           He looks even more startled than the first two times. “You mean it?” He asks.

           “I said the words, didn’t I?” I rhetorically answer. “You know what I meant. Go do what you want, so long as it doesn’t result in anything I’d be unhappy with.”

           He smiles at me once again, but this time there’s no mischief in his eyes, only gratitude. He doesn’t utter a word as the lamp on the table between us evaporates into a puff of smoke. Seconds later, he vanishes in much the same way.

           I blink again. I’m back in the second-hand shop with the lamp in my hands. Did I dream all that up, or am I now dreaming this up? I wonder. I dare not blink again just yet, not knowing where it’ll take me next.

           Oh well. Be it a force to shape the universe as I know it, or merely an unbridled distraction, my imagination is what it is.