I wish, I wish, I wish…
Those are the most wonderful words in the world for a psycho-magical parasite like me, although I still think they sound best in Old Persian. It’s not really the words themselves, but the intent and desire behind them, and I am so hungry I could feast on a vague hope, let alone a full-blown wish. I’ve been on lean pickings for a heartbeat or two now, not that I have a heart, but I’m sure that’s the phrase because so many of you mortals die in a heartbeat that it must be quite a long time.
I manifested at my customary size, which was a mistake, and said the words to bind myself to the new host.
“Your wish is my command, Oh mistress mine, what do you wish?”
I thought at first my host was tiny, but that was simply because I was so tall, but I like this size. It looks good on me.
“I wish you didn’t break my fairy palace.”
I’ve been around, seen the world, and I know that fairy palaces are not real. I also know what you mortals think a fairy palace ought to look like, and there was nothing nearby that matched, just an ordinary terraced house, a garden, and some tatters of pink cloth.
I would have ignored the oddity, but my host used the magic words I wish, so I had to do something.
“I see no fairy palace.”
The small human beckoned me close, so I shrank down until we were eye-to-eye. Full grown, you mortals often don’t give me much to feed on, but small humans, they have the sort of wild imagination that can sustain me for lots of heartbeats.
“It’s really just a tent,” the small human told me. “Mommy said I can imagine it’s a fairy castle, so I did. A pretty fairy palace. Like the one I seen on TV. But you broke it.”
Small humans have the sort of wild imagination that sees things other than they are. She said the magic words, and granting wishes is my bread-and-butter, except when they are a huge banquet driven by a small human with a wild imagination. However, she wished for the impossible. I can not go back in time to undo the damage to her imaginary fairy palace.
“I am sorry about your… tent.” The phrasing of wishes can give me some wriggle-room, unlike that damned lamp I was cooped up in for centuries. “If you wish… and say the words I wish, I can make your tent whole again.”
“Please. Yes. Please, please, please…” The small human smiled up at me, nothing but gap, which was odd, because I thought you all had teeth until you got really old. “I really wish I had a real fairy palace.”
There’s no such thing as a real fairy castle, but that wish was more than just a wish. Wild imagination blossomed all around me, a glorious fairy palace in pink and sky blue, adorned with fluttering ribbons and swooping fairies.
And then my host did what you mortals always do after making a wish – she blinked.
Eyelids down, and hold for an eternity, and then open, which is more than enough time to suck the raw magic of the universe through her mind, and make her fairy palace a reality. In fact, I had so much time that I spotted the imminent destruction of her house and worked around it. There were halls and grottos galore, which made more than enough space for one terraced house.
With hindsight, I probably should not have crushed the ones either side. I know I invented terraced houses several heartbeats back when you mortals were still making mud huts, but it’s so easy to forget the small details.
“Weeeeee!” The blink ended and my host saw her fairy palace. “Mummy, Mummy! Come see what the nice genie did for me! I wanna have Sally come round to play. And Louise. And…”
The small human stopped and turned, which in a full-grown mortal can be a sign that something is wrong. She stared at me, so I smiled, which made her take a step back. I really haven’t got the hang of that one.
“Thank you, Mister Genie. Thank you very much.”
“Your wish is my command, oh Mistress Mine.”
My small human smiled, and really I am sure that’s exactly what I do, although I have so many more teeth.
“Mummy says I must always say thank you.”
“Of course.” But let’s not get Mummy too involved. Grown mortals can really crimp a wild imagination. “Is there anything else you want to wish for? Just say the words. I wish…”
My small human smiled again. “I wish there was world peace.”
“Sorry? What?” The wild imagination was blank. “What is world peace?”
My small human shrugged. “Dunno, but Mummy says we should all wish for world peace. So I wish there was world peace. I wish, I wish, I wish…”
I can only do what’s possible. Wishes aren’t magic, you know? They get done by magic, but magic can’t do the impossible. I can decline impossible wishes, but world peace…
I had a hazy sort of idea. It wasn’t impossible. Probably. And I had the bond with my host, so the wish nibbled away at me, demanding to be done. Even the wish knew it was possible…
I felt a pain in my head, and I don’t feel pain.
My feet shrivelled first, then my knees, as the wish sucked at my existence. There’s no rules about this, but a wish is a wish. It’s a part of my fundamental nature. Probably.
“Mummy, mummy, look what I wished…”
I was no taller than an ant when Mummy arrived.
World peace was still happening, but slowly now. Not even my host’s wild imagination had enough sustenance for such a huge wish. I would do it. I had to do it. Just give me a few heartbeats.
“Mummy? Where’d my genie go?”
I wrote this in response to the #BlogBattle writing prompt of Miniature.
Image from Pixabay.
3 thoughts on “THE MIND SIZE”
I enjoyed discovering who the players were and what was happening as the story unfolded. Since I figured out first the narrator was a genie, at first I thought the wisher was actually a fairy, but wondered why a fairy would want a genie … discovering she was a little girl added levity. This genie seemed less malicious than many, of course, although when she wished for world peace, I did wonder if he was going to pull some trick of ‘removing’ the rest of humanity or something like that. Fun to read – and I love the pun in the title!
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Glad you enjoyed it.:)
I wrote a variant on this a while back (still waiting to be tidied up) with the same genie as narrator, and any *apparent* malice is down to carelessness, bordering on incompetence.
I do worry at times that I gravitate to writing idiots in first person.
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