I sat outside with my son. Everyone sat outside that night, it seemed, or leaned out their windows and over their balconies. You’d think we were all trying to escape from something sinister indoors, and maybe we were. Maybe that’s what we’ve been trying to do for millennia.

We’d dragged out two slatted chairs from the kitchen so we could lounge and stare up at the sky. Andrew wore his WWE cap and a shirt that was too baggy on him but that didn’t used to be. It wasn’t the way a twelve-year-old should be growing — he shouldn’t be deflating.

”It’s amazing,” Andrew said, and I said I agreed, although I was maybe the only person that night not looking up. I hadn’t seen him smile much recently. Not the genuine type — just the brave plastic type he wore because he didn’t like to see me sad. So I didn’t look up.

“What do you think their wish was, exactly?” he said. “Because, like, they didn’t have pollution back then, right?”

”Not really,” I said. “Maybe whisks of smoke curled up from their fires. I doubt there was much more than that.”

”So, what do you think it was? The exact words?’

I thought a while. Wondered, if I saw a sky like this, what I’d wish for. “Maybe this person had this very same view, thousands and thousands of years ago. And it blew their mind so much that they wished to share it with everyone. That we could all see the heavens as clearly as them.”

”That’s cool.”

”It’s selfless,” I said. “I think if it had been me, I’d have wished for only me to have seen the sky like this every night. I just wouldn’t have thought beyond that. But whoever that was, they wanted us all to share in the beauty.”

This was the second night we’d been able to see the night sky so clearly — even in a city as bright as this. The sky had cleared up yesterday evening, as if god’s hand had swept over the dirt and cleansed the air itself. Not even light could pollute it now.

”Remember,” Andrew said, “how you used to tell me dad was a star and watching down on us?”

I felt a sudden, guilty nausea. Andrew had been young and I’d mostly said it to soothe him. Maybe to soothe me, too. He hadn’t mentioned it in a couple of years. “You remember that, huh?”

“We’d be able to see him now.” Andrew peered up at the stars, eyes slowly roving, seemingly taking each one in and assessing the possibility. Except there were millions. “Maybe, you know, after… Maybe I’ll be up there sitting next to him.”

I told him not to say such things and turned away as I wiped my eyes. Told him he was going to be fine — that he was strong and going to make it. But the shirt was so big on him, and nothing yet had worked, and I’d kept none of my promises so far, so I think he knew better than to trust to my new ones.

After a while he said, ”Do you really think it was someone’s wish?”

”What else could it be?“ I replied. “No one can explain it.”

“I hope it was.”

Before we went indoors, I finally looked up at the sky. I knew a wish would take thousands of years to reach the wishing star — if it even existed — and I knew that it might never come true. It wasn’t a wish for me, or even for Andrew. We were on our own now. And I knew I wouldn’t be around to see a wish I made take shape. But one day I hoped that no other parent or child had to go through this, so I closed my eyes and wished.

I have a pet jaguar now.

I named her Jabari, meaning brave one, because I always come home to find her crouched at the door, waiting to pounce on my boots. Other than her unconquerable instinct to hunt humans, she is by far the easiest cat I've ever owned. She has no claws, no fangs, and only stands as tall as a squirrel.

Admittedly, adopting a jaguar is a tacky trend at this point. I'm catching the wave at the tail end, when it's as easy as rescuing a stray from the shelters. When the rapid evolution had just occurred, and all jaguars on the planet found themselves on the prey-end of the wildlife spectrum, owning one of these little devils had been a high luxury. But it took less than ten years before nearly every street in the country had a proud-posturing mini-big cat being walked on a leash.

We've seen now that this was likely the first of the ancient wishes to come true. As far as I can tell, it's the only one that has had a clearly positive benefit.

Following closely behind the rapid evolution of all jaguars came many sudden and unexplainable events like the torrential rainfall along the Tigris-Euphrates river system in the Middle-East, the appearance of an enormous fish in the Huang He, or 'Yellow River', of China, and the eruption of a previously dormant volcano along the east coast of Kenya.

Taken on their own, each seemed like an individual freak occurrence of nature. It wasn't until the resurrection of Sadiki, the ancient Egyptian, that we all pieced together what must be happening.

Sadiki's body coalesced from a scattering of dust outside of Cairo. The skeleton had formed first, discovered one morning just lying out in the open under the hot sun, and scientists gathered from across the globe to watch as the streams of dust carrying Sadiki's soft tissue slowly trickled in from the farthest reaches of the desert. Even the white linen outfit from Sadiki's burial had reformed, and until then, scientists were too cautious to get close enough to discover that this was not a modern human skeleton.

Sadiki, through the help of some very excited historical linguists, described a long and arduous battle for their health, and many prayers from friends and family for their full recovery. Their mother, in a slightly blasphemous taboo, even wished on a wandering star.

At last, all the individual anomalies could be collected into one theory. And this theory seemed to hold for many freak occurrences to come, like the sudden appearance of a land bridge across the Red Sea, trapping many cargo ships in the newly formed Great Red Lake.

When I'm out on my late walks with Jabari, I watch the first stars appear in the sky and wonder what the earth will look like when all the past millenniums' worth of wishes come true. I'd really like to see this planet after all the little changes catch up, see how society carries on with what will probably be a daily reshuffling of the laws of physics.

So tonight, I wish to come back like Sadiki, at least for a short while, in however far a future that may be. I'll try to remember tomorrow to wish for Jabari's safe return as well, as long as some other misguided wish from the ancient past doesn't wipe us out before then.

__________________

I'm on day 30 of a streak.

If you liked this story, the other 29 days are collected at r/FarFetchedFiction.

Thanks.

[Concrit Welcome]

If you wish upon a star, then a miracle is about to start.

Leo stood alone inside the circular dome-shaped room. It was a long day in the observatory, and he still needs to do routine recordings of the upcoming meteor shower. Forcing himself not to fall asleep on the desk, he approached the telescope at the center.

He had always believed there was something uniquely mesmerizing about the night sky, which was the reason he wanted to study astronomy. But these midnight observations that could’ve perfectly been automatically recorded were a real test on his nerves.

A faint flash in the night sky. The meteor shower had started.

More visible dots flickered from the lens on the telescope, and just as he had feared, the faint voices were back again.

There was another reason why Leo hated being alone in the observatory at night. Ever since he was a child, these whispers had accompanied him whenever there was a meteor shower. His therapist had called them harmless hallucinations, but it was nights like these that almost convinced Leo there was something deeper.

If he was more awake, he would pause everything and take his medication. But he was too tired, he wasn’t thinking. In between one breath and the next, the button to open the observatory roof was clicked.

The roof slowly bloomed open like moonflower petals, and a cold breeze trickled through the gaps. Perhaps it was his sleepiness, perhaps there was no reason, but the voices seemed clearer that night. Most were still nonsense noise, but he was able to make sense of a few of the loudest ones.

“I wish for the night to be not as dark.” A breathy voice said.

“I hope that one day the forest would be safer.” This one sounded like a young woman.

“I wish the village won’t starve just because of a bad harvest anymore.” An old man’s hoarse and deep voice echoed.

“I wish the neighboring kingdom wouldn’t attack us anymore.”

“I wish there are enough books for everyone.”

“I wish to no longer worry about floods or hurricanes.”

“I wish to understand the heavens.”

“I wish to be reunited with my loved ones.”

“I wish my voice to be heard.”

The meteors crashed down into the atmosphere one by one, etching faint white lines throughout the sky. Leo listened to every one of the wishes from long ago, that had come true in one way or another, long after the ones who made the wishes had passed.

He was in that dreamy state again, at that field trip in second grade, laying on the grass outside the tent. He muttered the same words he said back then in a shaky voice: “One day, I will touch the stars.”

In the not-so-far distant above, the international space station made another rotation around the earth.

There was a man when the world was quite young. There was a woman. Sometimes it seems like all the stories start like this. Sometimes they do. But this time youth was no mere trick of light, sunrise filtering through the blinds just so to illuminate the room as she entered, because the world really was young once. I forget that. Do you? Before cities sprouted on the hills or smeared themselves across the riverbanks in a haze of steel and smoke.

Though there was smoke that night, whispering into the half-dark sky as night began to fall.

The man’s name has been forgotten. The woman’s. This is not to be considered. The world was young, and they lived in a succession of passing moments. Had not yet worried that such things as names might last.

The man builds up the campfire. Darkness gathers. There is no moon tonight, there are no stars. They’ve gone a distance away from the others, inadvisable on the savanna, but neither of them had to insist. One wandered off and then the other, and now their kinfolks’ singing is scattered across the near horizon, as the darkness presses down upon all things.

She speaks and he responds. He speaks and she smiles. Turns away as the full weight of night begins to settle. The fire leaps between them, casting shadows on her face and shoulders, the play of sinews in her thighs. We would say that she is sixteen, and he is nineteen, and there are circles torn beneath her eyes from waking late at night to the laughing sounds of the hyenas, a distant roar of lions, thunder, lightning, monsoons. Her black skin is calloused, laced by scars in intricate, intentional designs, and by an uncaring rake of claws received the year before from some predator or another, be it beast or bird or man. Her hair is no liquid tumble, no fast water at night. It does not spill across her shoulders. She’s hacked it short with a stone knife. Used the same knife just yesterday to skin his kill.

The man builds up the campfire. His axe and spear are close at hand. He has killed; mostly recently another man, when they passed a group of grizzled, half-mad wanderers on a hunt at the beginning of the season. Night brings those thoughts out in him, leaves him with a vague feeling of disquiet that often takes some hours to dispel. Not tonight. Tonight he is wasting wood to push back against the darkness for other reasons. He builds the fire up again, and she looks at him, at the night, with a curious expression, because she doesn’t understand what it is he sees.

Here is what he sees across the dancing flames:

Beauty, softened by the play of shadows, a blackness that breathes another meaning into night. Whimsy, ease, daring. She didn’t have to come with him. She did. They are too far from the others, these things are not safe. This was a time before we courted danger, before risks became exciting, and yet that thought stirs within him the most curious feeling. Building up the fire, the man sees the impulse that will, one day, lead to sprawling cities, hilltop fortresses, temples, tombs, and poetry. He does not yet have these. Is a part of their beginning, nothing more.

What he does have, staring at her, wishing that this moment could last, that dawn would hold off just this one night with its hunts and raids and headlong flights—

Is the stars.

He glances up, just a glance, he cannot bring himself to look away from her. He does not speak or gesture. Could not yet put this thought into words. He simply wishes in this moment when everything is youth and fire, that the two of them could be preserved. Or her. He’d settle for just her. His knees have begun hurting lately, and in the rainy season the old wounds along his hip and back ache. He’s turned half to dust already, but her.

He smiles, thinking that. She notices. Asks him what’s so funny.

“Nothing at all,” says the man, who goes back to tinkering with the fire, playing tender shadows across her bruised, calloused, scarred—supple—skin, before a passing breath across the world fades them into hazy memory.

There was a man when the world was quite young. There was woman. Sometimes it seems like all the stories start like this. Many have, and will, and do.

Lay back tonight. Find a patch of grass if you are able, away from all the lights. Listen to the gentling pulse of your heartbeat as the sun falls and darkness gathers. Watch, in astonished silence, as an infinity of campfires spreads across the sky. If you are very quick, or very daring, or very much at ease, perhaps you’ll see it—theirs, the first—before you blink the night away, and call them simply stars.

Lay back tonight, as they did.

There was a man. There was a woman.

Stories start like this.

r/TurningtoWords

There was a sudden flash of light. Suddenly there was something. I slowly grew a consience, a sense of self during a time that could have been weeks or months, or just a few seconds. Time.

• Wait, what the hell is time? In an extremely intense moment of growing panic I became aware of time moving forth, my own body and that the light wasn't just a light, but rather an image, containing other beings outside of my own body. I felt dirt under my nails and smelled the air, still fresh after last night's rain. I immediately knew that rain was something beautiful. Rain meant food. Water meant life.

I realized I must be alive again. Where was the beast that had slain me? I definitely died that night, and I vaugely remember seeing a star fall on the sky and wishing I could see another one before I died. I always liked the stars.

I heard a raised voice. It was a man. I looked down at my feet, wiggled my toes and then looked in the direction of the sound, smiling. He was not alone. There was a whole crowd of humans, very tall and very white. They did seem angry, but I never found out why. They had very odd clothing, and things on their head. It did not seem that their clothes would be very good to move around in. I also wondered which kind of animal they were made from, they must have been mighty beasts when they were alive.

• Hello! I said, in the only language I knew. The crowd gasped in unison and took a step back. The man took a step forward and yelled even louder at me, though I did not understand him. I told him as much, which only resulted in more yelling. I looked over to the right of the yelling man, and in the distance I saw water shooting up from some kind of stone. It was incredible sight, so I immediately got up and ran towards it, noting the terrifying mountains with faces around me and the very long, flat stones on the ground on which a large flock of very odd animals, carrying humans around inside them, were going up and down, undecided on where to go. I quickly understood that they too must be looking for the magical water-stone. All living things drink water. So I went into their path and tried to make them turn towards the stone. They panicked and tried to avoid me, so I had to chase after them along the flat stones.

Suddenly I heard a woman yell, it was a beautiful sound among the screaming, fleeing animals, and I stopped in my tracks and looked behind me. That's when it all went black again.

Luckily, I quickly woke up this time. Down on me looked the most beautiful living thing I had ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon. She had a hair like a fire during a cold night, and her eyes were piercing me like no spear had ever done. She had no hair in her face, her skin was smooth and pale. She said something, and it was just as heavenly as I had imagined. Her voice was soft and kind, and it ran like honey down my ears. She held out her hand, and I put my hand in hers. I let her drag me up on my feet and realized that there was again a large crowd around us, but they were quiet now. Everything was quiet. The woman turned away from me and ran. The animals had stopped running around, and for the first time I noticed it was evening. I wished I could see her again. I looked up into the sky and saw a star fall.

it was the final moment of my life and there i was, lying down on the hospital bed, bed-stricken and exhausted from a long painful illness.

a shining twinkling light shone from the window, opening my eyes and on the window, a screen began to appeared and showed me a taylor swift's live performance.

i havent heard that song in a while since the illness took over my body and thats when it hits.

my heart was giving up on itself, slowly, and the screen vanished from the window as the star was no longer there because the moon was shining this time and as I drifted off to nowhere and into the dark, I heard the door swung opened and a familiar voice said,

"Hey, its taylor."

"I have never seen such a large snake" Said the news reporter on 5news. Egh why not lets watch this bullshit report, it's most probably fake. I sit down with a cup of coffee in the morning to see whats going on. Not much is happening, except a large snake like head laying in the sand, most probably some project made by some architects or another mystery of the desert.

​

Fuck it, I don't have time for this I have to go to work and I am about to be late. 20 minutes later. Finally got to work, it's 9am. At least I am not late. The work place is a bit more crowded and chatty than normal but whatever maybe some drama happened again or people saw the stupid news report.

​

Phewh, filed some reports and projects of, can have a quick donut break. My collegue Severino has been talking about the news report. At least it wasn't boring i guess.

​

What happened, suddenly people started to scream, I quickly look at what and ... huh ... The reporting is still being done but the snake head is gone. Well thats weird.

Oh no, what in the absolute hell is going on, how is it possible, a giant snake destroying a whole capital, so easily. I am not sure what to think. I hear someone weeping and crying repeating the words "Apep is here, we are all dead". ... Holy shit, since when did he come back, I thought father slayed him millinums ago.

Pandemonium struck the world as the ground began to swell. Not on the fault lines but in the cemeteries. "It's finally happened, it's the zombie apocalypse" everyone seeing this sight began to cry. After further inspection, though it wasn't the dead rising back to life, it was their avarice. Cash, gold, and precious jewels erupted from every grave and crypt. Everyone's fears were replaced with elation as it wasn't the apocalypse but wealth beyond measure.

Soon, graverobing bacame a everyday occurrence. Some tried to legally make a claim to their ancestors' newfound fortunes, but many took to robbing from the graves with ease. With all these unchecked newfound riches circulating in the economy, enormous inflation was a given. The things that once we're coveted due to their scarcity were now everyday trinkets and trash. As a result, there were rampant famine and violence.

The war machines surprisingly didn't last long. Without means to accurately compensate soldiers, their feet quit marching. Just as the soldiers stopped so did the worlds workforce in large. Many tried to reinstitute some kind of currency but faith in the entire monetary system was broken. Vieing desperately to survive many broke loose of the confindes of society and reverted to living in the wilderness or in smaller self sufficient communities.

So, as it was, this actually was the end of the world as we knew it, the end of society. When faced with the realization of obtaining everything we've ever wanted, we lost everything. In the end, those who moved on realized we are not what have and we are not what we lack. We are complete just as we are. While we hope and dream of something better, it is just as important to cherish ourselves as we are.

Today was the day the wishes began to come true. Little did we know what was to occur. Little did we know what to expect. I think, deep down, we thought that we were good, that when we got the ability to wish for things, that they would come from good places, from the good within. Oh, how we were fools.

Immediately, death, disease, destruction. The world is overtaken by selfish desires, as humans began ripping each other apart one by one. Jealous of what others received. Angry that they didn’t wish for something else. Cursing the name of the stars, for reasons that weren’t their fault, rushing head first into an abyss that wasn’t meant for them. As they say: be careful what you wish for. Thankfully, you were.

You woke up that morning and all the stars were ablaze. The book you had been reading the night before is on the nightstand beside you, alongside your phone. It’s blowing up.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing!?” one text says. “He’s back! Dad’s back!” says another. It’s all too much to take in at once.

Outside, you see a car crash into a street pole, the driver dead behind the wheel. The passenger stepped out, screaming, “I take it back! I don’t wish you were dead! Please!”

Money, countless amounts of it, line the streets. Many people are clawing at it, some are driving over it, figuring it was useless as the world had just ended. Another car crashes. Then another. Then another. The chaos ensues for the next three hours and you stay up in your apartment watching, waiting for some sort of relief to come. Your family seems to be okay. You lock your doors and go back to your room. The electricity has been shut off. You sit in the dark, alone.

Suddenly a light floods your window. You look outside and glowing above you is one last shooting star, glowing a bright blue. You can’t look away. And then it hits you. You never made your wish.

“Oh God,” you say. “What the hell am I suppose to wish for?”

You think about texting your family, but then you realize that any input from them would tarnish your wish. It had to come solely from you. You ponder what to do, writing out pros and cons lists, researching philosophies and theologies, even praying. But as the dawn begins to crack, you still have nothing. You begin to panic.

The star is still burning blue. It seems to have not dimmed at all since you first saw it. Then you realize what you have to wish for.

“My only wish,” you think, “is one million more years of wishes coming true.”

You expect something to happen, but nothing does. Outside it’s become pitch quiet. People have probably abandoned town. It wouldn’t been soon until looters begin to arrive. You look out your window and the blue star is gone. You decide to test to see if your wish worked.

“I wish for immunity to damage and pain,” you think. “I wish for immortality,” you think. Again, nothing happens. But you decide to test it.

You open the window of your apartment, which is five stories high, and you jump off, landing on the pavement with a loud thud. But as you come to your senses, you realize that nothing has happened to you. You remained unscratched. “Awesome,” you say aloud. “Awesome.”

Now, all that is left to do is relay the news to other. Every wish that is wished would come true for the next one million years. They had to use this power responsibly, as one wish could ruin the whole thing, but something inside you felt optimistic of the future.

“I wish this goes well,” you say. You stand up into the street. You put some cash in your pocket, and you go on your way.

The wishes that finally came after their persistence to chase with perseverance across the cosmos to finally be granted, finally found success in a windfall. Wishes came wishing for those who have been dead for thousands of years; to die. Wishes came for people to not die, yet came so many years too late. Many wished for possessions, that they can no cling to in their eternal slumber. Few wished for all those alive at the time to find peace, and yet they already have in their rest. Some oh so lucky few wished to be famous for incredulously long lengths of time, and now their skeletons are propped up in museums, names mentioned in textbooks. Although many wishes were made in vain, it wasnt long before some soul to make an odd wish. Impossible to tell if this individual was a hero saving us from the impulsive whims of humanity, or a petty soul with hatred in his heart. Yet this soul wished for no more wishes upon stars to be granted. Wishes are nice, but now ultimately change cant be manifested any longer without action. Wishes now only live within the human spirit. If it is a wish that is just, then go out there and manifest someone's wish. Provide some magic in this world for someone pure, even if you have never known them, or even if it is for yourself. Now it is ultimately up to us to grant wishes with agency and conscience. It seemed the only wish that came true, was for humanity to be able to grant their own wishes.

Mr. Geppetto glanced over at his little wooden boy perched upon the shelf as leaned over to pet his dead cat Figaro. “Oh wouldn’t that be nice if this wooden boy of mine were real?” He asked rhetorically, Mr. Geppetto wanted nothing more than to have a real boy. He wanted something to fill the empty void of loneliness and despair he has suffered for years since losing his only son to tragically to tuberculosis, another wish he made upon a star that never came true. His wife passed some years later, but it seemed she had already given up after the passing of her child already.

All he wanted was to share his knowledge and his love of woodwork, a trade no less he would have imparted into his son if he had lived into adulthood. He tried to find some sense if peace, he got a new kitten just a few months ago, and had his beloved goldfish for about a year now, but none of these efforts seemed to replace the loneliness he has felt since losing his only son. As a final act of desperation he crafted a wooden puppet in his late sons likeness. He would sing with it, dance with it, and speak to it as if it were already real, it was real enough to him.

Mr. Geppetto dozed off while pondering heavily on the wish he made, he wanted nothing more than it to come true. The next morning he slowly arose from bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he looked over to his workbench. His little wooden boy had not moved an inch, he knew it wouldn’t, he was not so detached from reality to believe his little wooden boy would suddenly spring to life, but deep down he had hoped and dreamed. “Just another wish, ay Figaro? Of course I’m not foolish enough to believe he would come to life. But that’s alright, he’s alive to me” Mr. Geppetto stated as he pet Figaro.

For the next 7 years he carried on with his same daily routine, only now he would being his little wooden boy affixed with strings with him anywhere he went. He would talk through it at the markets, the local tavern, to children on the street, doing his best impression of a young playful child. Everyone loved seeing the puppet masters work and performance, even if his attachment seemed quite strange to some.

One morning however, Mr. Geppetto did not awake from his slumber. A neighboring florist he would often converse with every morning as he strolled by on his way to the markets grew concerned. She had not seen him in a few days, so thought she should check in on him. Peering through a northern facing window she could see the cold lifeless body of Mr. Geppetto. By this point his beloved goldfish Cleo had been long gone, and Figaro was more or less an outside cat, he would come and go at his leisure, but now he was nowhere to be found, likely outside somewhere on the hunt for a meal. But the Florist noticed clutched in Mr. Geppetto’s arms, that most loved little wooden boy of his.

With no family to speak of, the local townsfolk that knew the kind, lonely carpenter held a funeral. He was ultimately buried in a nondescript plot of land, buried holding his little wooden boy in his arms. The Florist adopted Figaro the cat and took care of him for the remainder of his life, and in accordance to Mr. Geppetto’s will his clocks were distributed to the townsfolk he would interact with daily. For a bit he was remembered, but as time goes on some things just fade and people are forgotten.

A thousand years have passed, Pinocchio, now slightly petrified but still in relatively good condition as a testament to Mr. Geppetto’s craftsmanship lay there for a thousand years with his father, who was now no more than a pile of dust and some fragments of bone, remaining completely still, until finally, the coffin filled with a bright blue light. Pinocchio gasped his first breath, although he didn’t really need air to survive. He was suddenly filled with overwhelming panic, why was it so dark? What was happening, where was he? Why was he here? The only sound he could hear were some nearby crickets chirping that had made Geppetto’s coffin their home. Pinocchio pounded on the top of the coffin, yelling and screaming to be let out, but his screams were unheard.

It is said if you walk through that cemetery on a quite and clear night, at an unmarked grave you can barely hear the screams of a restless soul. Or maybe it is just the wind.

Note: I probably shouldn’t have typed this on my phone, so bare with me.

Edit: Formatting.

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