One Wish

Damian fumbled with the box in his hands as he ran from the corner store. It had been sitting there, hidden behind the rack of magazines and cartons of soda. The streets were alive with the afternoon rush, but he pushed through the chaos of faces and bodies. When he reached his apartment, he was finally able to catch his breath and only then had he realised his hands were trembling. Gently, he placed the box on his kitchen countertop and took a deep breath. Now that it was in front of him, he could make out the gold trimming around the edges and red and white stripes. In black letters, the word 'OPEN ME' marked the lid. He swallowed the nerves creeping up his throat and lifted the lid. Inside, was a tiny figurine of an Anatolian man wearing red pants. Attached to the pants was a note.

HOLD ME IN YOUR LEFT HAND. COVER ME WITH YOUR RIGHT. MAKE YOUR WISH. PUT ME BACK.

'It will grant you one wish' Hector the librarian had told him.  He picked up the figurine and followed the instructions.

When he opened his eyes, he returned the figurine to the box, sat on his couch and waited. He thought about the elderly man who worked behind the counter at the corner store and his middle-aged son who stacked all the shelves with miscellaneous items. Then his mind became a rolodex of faces he had seen through out the day. The young girl on the train eating her sushi, the tram driver who tilted his hat while he crossed the intersection.

The sound of the telephone brought him back. He let it ring out and the machine captured the voice mail. Ah…Hi...Ah yeah, Damian. This is Louie from apartment 3. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I can see your Corvette being towed. I’m really sorry.

Damian sat up straight. It worked. It had worked.  He paced around his place smiling. It had worked so quickly, and he hadn’t even said anything out aloud. He’d thought it. Imagined it. Dreamed it. He picked up the figurine, but it was scorching. He tossed it to the floor and within seconds, it combusted and turned to dust. There was a knock at the door, startling him. He looked through the peep hole. It was Louie. He sighed and opened the door, leaving it ajar.     

             ‘I got your message.’

             ‘Dude, your car is awesome. Bummer about it being towed. Why did you park it in the loading zone? Lucky I was smoking on my balcony. You probably would have thought it got stolen, or somethin’.

             ‘I…I guess.’  Damian paused. ‘Well thank you.’ He opened the door a little wider.

             ‘Don’t you want to go the pound to pick it up?’

             ‘Yes, I supposed but I hear it’s very expensive.’ Damian had his hand on the door, but Louie pushed it and walked straight in.

             ‘You have a credit card, don’t you?’

Damian scratched the back of his neck. Something (an invisible force maybe?) jolted him forward. His legs began to tingle, and it was as though his wallet came flying from his back pocket and landed on the floor in front of him. As it fell, it spilled open and wads of cash – fifty-and-one-hundred-dollar bills fanned out on the floor. Damian’s eyes widened. It had truly worked. The car. The cash. But before he could say anything, Louie pulled out a revolver and pointed it towards his head.

             ‘Pick it up, nerd. Then you’ll give me the keys to the car.’

             ‘But you said...’ he was cut off.

             ‘You’re so gullible. And you don’t even know the neighbourhood. There is no loading zone.’ The rear of the gun collected Damian’s temple, and everything turned to black.

When he came to, Damian head was pounding. He touched his temple and saw red on his fingers. His apartment was dark and struggled to reach the light switch. When the room was illuminated, it was obvious Louie had ransacked the place to find the keys to his car. The car he had wished for, along with the cash.  He needed to treat the wound on this head, so he found a first aid kit in the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and the dampened a cloth with water. It felt cool against his skin as he wiped some of the blood away. He reached for a bandage but froze as he looked in the mirror. Behind him was the Anatolian man. Damian’s mouth was open; his breathing shallow. He closed his eyes and counted... five, four, three, two, one... open. The man was still there. He was moving closer. Damian’s feet felt like cement. He could not move or blink or breath. His eyes followed the arm reaching for his shoulder and he blurted out one giant roar, but the man’s hand had his shoulder in his grip. It was firm and spun him around, so he was facing the man who granted him his wish. He smelt of sandalwood and pomegranate.

             ‘You fool,’ he said. ‘You wished for empty luxuries.’

Damain felt the weight of the man’s hand pull him away from the basin and into the lounge. His head began to pound; his vision becoming blurry. Why did he steal the box? Why didn’t he listen to Hector. ‘What is happening? He with his shoulder still locked in the man’s grip.

             ‘I will now take you on a journey.’ The house began to tremble and the box the man came from increased in size so that the lid acted became a door. Damian’s eyes were glued on city he could see inside the box. But how could another world live beyond the box? He had no time to dwell in his wondering before he was pulled into the box and together with the Anatolian man, they stepped inside what looked like a replica of the street his apartment was on. Except the city had become a dystopian town. Armoured police cars patrolled the street while gangs of youths wearing balaclavas hid behind ally ways and parked cars. They sky was burnt orange and ominous clouds rolled on above. As they walked through the streets, it became apparent no one else could see them.

             ‘What is this place?’ Damian asked.

             ‘This is the result of your wish.’

             ‘My wish?’

The Anatolian man stopped walking. ‘Why did you take the box?’

Damian paused. His mind flooded back to his conversation with Hector.  ‘I was told I could have anything I wanted.’

             ‘This is the repercussion of your choice.’ The man raised his arm and pointed around the street.

Damina looked around. ‘I don’t understand. I didn’t wish for anything harmful. I wished for a car and money.’

             ‘But you were greedy. And greed is like a weed. It will grow anywhere.’

             ‘But how do you explain it being stolen, with me being hit over the head?’ He rubbed his hand over his temple; the blood had dried.

             ‘Look, over towards that intersection.’

Damian’s eyes focused on a set of young men, dressed in black, following the lead of someone -it looked like Louie – running through the streets, throwing Molotov cocktails towards and army of riot police.

             ‘How is this my fault?’ Damian asked.

The man chuckled. ‘Am I right in thinking my real power was never disclosed?

             ‘I was told I could only ask for one wish.’ He thought back to his conversation with Hector again. He was certain he followed the instructions. Hector had never mentioned anything about the wish had to be altruistic.   

             ‘There is a way to reset the wish. If you choose to do so, we must act hastily.’

Damian looked around. The air was heavy and his eyes began to burn. ‘What is your plan?’

He felt the man tug at his arm as he was pulled back into the box and through to his apartment. The dystopian city began disappearing as the lid of the box began to close.

             ‘Submerge me in water and I will return to living in this box. You will be able to make another wish. But be warned, you will have no recollection of the previous wish.’

Damian nodded and got to filling the bathtub. ‘How long will you need to be under the water?’

             ‘Three minutes. I shall need no other assistance. When it is over, you will be standing in the kitchen, holding the box just as you were previously.’

With the bathroom door closed, Damian was unsure if what the Anatolian man had said held any weight. Had he been hallucinating the whole time? He rubbed his and against his temple again and winced at the bruise forming. This was no dream. This was real. He closes his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them, he was no longer standing outside the bathroom, rather, he was standing in his kitchen, holding the box in his hand. He carefully peeled the lid off and laughed. The man was once again, a figurine. He carefully picked it out and held it in his left hand, covered it with his right and made his wish. As he put the figurine back, a voice from deep inside the box rang through. ‘YOU FOOL!’ and before Damian had any time to process what he had heard, pools of money began emerging from every crevasse of his home...