Thread:MagicDaydreamer/@comment-44044902-20191014010510/@comment-44044902-20191028161336

Here thou go, with this stupid garbage:

“I will grant you one wish, but it will only last you two hours."

Those words circle in my head as I gawk at the creature in front of me. Green—or yellow; my colorblindness doesn’t help—lumpy slime coats its face and body. Two horns stick out of its head like small nubs, Its face all wrinkly and warped—almost. Its eyes were on backwards, and Its nose was on its chin. At least I think.

To tell the stone-cold truth, I have no idea what’s going on. One second I was standing in my parent’s all-white, all-cleared bedroom, staring at a cracked mirror that’s been in this house for God-knows how long, and the next second I collapse, just like that, plunging into Darkness’s haven. And then the next second, I’m in the same blank and vacant room with this creature crouched over me, which can only be described as a ‘thing’. Or quite possibly a mutant.

“Who are you?” I grumble.

“Is that ya wish? You wanna know who I be? ‘Cuz if so, ya’re in for a long two-hour lecture, sonny.” Its crooked language amuses me. I feel a hysterical smile start to tug on my lips. Its forked tongue flicks at me, and my nose catches a whiff of an acrid odor. I gag and wheeze, doing everything to try to redeem fresh air. Or maybe I’m just stretching time to think of a wish.

Its offer is intriguing. I might wish for a bathtub full of ice cream, or perhaps a donkey. Maybe even a couple of hours of fame? The possibilities are endless—or they would be, if I wasn’t so narrow-minded. I don’t have a lot of wishes; those lead to secrets, and I don’t have any secrets. Do I? If I did, I wouldn’t tell anyone if I did or not. Besides, who’d I ask for ideas? Sarah, maybe. Too bad she’s dead.

That leads me to an idea. A random flashback plays in my head: ''a little boy and a girl, age six, run around in the cold winter. A slightly older boy and girl sit hand-in-hand, enthralled by the magical sunset in front of them. A boy cries into his pillow at the news that caught him so off-guard that he had to go to emergency therapy. ''But now I’m fine, content even, I think to myself as I fidget with the cap of my antidepressants—and Risperdal, so I don’t hallucinate, which I haven’t taken in a while—that I’m always forced to carry. My mind races as I imagine all of the things that Sarah and I would be able to do. We could—

“Ya sure are taking ya’re sweet time, aren’t ya?” It asks, and Its voice vaguely reminds me of an Italian-New Yorker. My treacherous lips grin at an inside joke that’s been shoved to the back of my mind.

It frowns, seemingly annoyed. “Ya think this is a joke, eh?”

“I—”

“I don’t like that,” It decides. “Offer expires in five seconds.” My jaw drops as Its fingers slowly start to count down. As if summoned, the voices in my head grow louder, demanding their own crazy things. By ‘two’, I had no choice but to give in to the one thing that keeps ruining my life—my schizophrenia. I blurt out the one thing that I desire most, according to the rambling voices in my head.

“I wish for a tub of ice cream.”

They asked for an unreliable twist, so I gave them one DDX