The lamp’s yours now, friend, but be warned: Not all Genies grant wishes.
Some do, to be sure, some make your dreams come true.
But some Genies, mad from centuries’ solitude, ignore requests. These Genies would delight in making you pay for each moment they’ve spent imprisoned, heedless of your blamelessness.
Some Genies have the power to burn the world, and the rage to want it burned.
I don’t know what Genie’s in this lamp, in all the years I’ve owned it I’ve feared to find out.
But now it’s yours. Rub it. Do not. It’s no concern of mine.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Labels: 100 words, Drabble, Genie, Short story
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