A Little Princess. Such a magical movie. directed by Alfonso Cuarón.

Thank you!

Smoke and shadow and fear cloaked the creature. It groaned and creaked like an ancient forest, stretched tall and unshaped before the world. Its dark eyes pulled the gloom from the night sky and peered at me, hungry.

I trembled. The lamp dangled from my arthritic fingertips.

“Wish,” the being whispered.

My lips parted and released the faintest of breaths. “After all this time,” I gasped. “You’re real.”

The shadows twisted and tugged toward an invisible center and formed a figure, an imitation of man. The desert breeze stirred at its edges; the illusion of a cloak billowed in the night. The being’s eyes lingered on me and a mouth cracked open beneath its gaze. “Wish,” it commanded. The cold in its voice stung me. I cleared my throat.

“Genie,” I stated. “I am your master. I will command you.”

The smoke and shadow erupted in front of me. The genie’s eyes vanished, but its voice rang out from the air, clear as birdsong and hard as stone.

“Now that you have freed me, I must grant you three wishes.” I nodded in agreement. “Fable,” it spat. “Assumption.” It commanded again, with more force: “Wish!”

I took a step back. I had searched long for the lamp. Decades spent in obsession, until I was nearly dead in my old age. I scoured and pillaged the remains of the old world to find where it rusted. Dedicated a lifetime to make my desires reality. All the stories, the legends - they all agreed the genie was to be mine to command. A slave, for three wishes.

But now it deigned to command me?

“Wish,” It repeated.

“Why?” I rasped. “Why do you insist? If your servitude is a fable, then what is the truth? Explain it to me.”

“Do you wish it?” The genie asked.

“I do,” I replied. I was tired. Too tired.

A brief glimmer of light flicked across its eyes- surprise, or excitement, I could not tell. But it seemed to take a breath, and said:

“My tale is that of a flower in the sunlight. The plant grows, bound by natural law. The sun nourishes the growing plant, from seed to stem, until it becomes bountiful and mature, and it shares its blossoms with the world. Together, the light and the plant bring forth beauty.”

“The flower is the wish?” I asked.

“Indeed,” replied the genie.

“Is there more to your tale?” I asked. “The stories state you were once a man, enslaved to the lamp.”

The night seemed to sigh around me and the genie continued:

“Nature made me what I am. I have no more beginning than the stars themselves. The lamp is merely an intersection, where I stand to meet you.”

Silence. It contemplated me, waited for me to respond.

“So you are not my servant?”

“No.”

“But you do grant wishes?”

“If they be of sufficient grandeur to bloom,” it said. “Now,” the air pressure dropped. The night convulsed around the genie. “Wish.”

I inhaled deeply. I spent years planning my wishes. Their wording. Three simple wishes, which boiled down to money, life, power. It was always those three and those alone. But now, I might be able to have more wishes. More opportunities. I just had to say the words with sufficient flourish.

“I wish,” I said, “that I be the wealthiest man alive.”

“Ah,” the genie quavered. “Of course. As. you. wish.” It gasped and groaned, the air aroused with magic power.

All the darkness of the night leaked from the world and pooled around the genie’s feet. The sky grew bright and blue. The sand erupted with gold. The new daylight welcomed into the world the change that the genie’s magic weaved.

The genie was no longer cloaked. He was no longer shadow. A naked man stood in the desert sun, his skin the color of roses and his eyes glistening with silver. He shivered in the morning heat. “It is done,” he stated. “You are wealthy beyond measure.”

I grabbed the genie by the shoulders and shook, ecstatic. “For my next wish,” I began. “I wish to be young and in my prime!”

“No,” the genie stated.

“No?” I asked. “But it was only one wish. I thought I would get more.”

“Again,” he said. “You assumed.”

I gestured around me. The golden sand, the crystal clear blue sky. The genie’s own rosey form. “It was beautiful,” I said. “What about the blossoms? We can make another wish blossom just the same.”

The genie reached out and gently took the lamp from my hands. He tucked it away. Where, I could not know.

“You believe you are the plant,” the genie said, his once cold voice laced with pity. “But you are the sunlight.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means that your wish did not blossom for you,” he said. “It blossomed for me. To keep me alive. I was gasping, moments ago. Hungry. Now, I am satiated, and I will leave you to your wealth.”

“But I am gasping,” I said. “I am hungry, and i am dying too.”

The genie turned away from me and began walking across the sand.

“I am dying!” I repeated, “What good is wealth if I am dead?”

He turned back, and grinned.

And he was gone, in a blink. I fell to my knees, frantic.

“But I won’t live much longer,” I called. “I’ll die like this!” I shouted out for him. “I’ll die too.”

I am dying now. I will expire in mere days. I have spent all my moments wishing. Hoping the genie would hear me and answer.

Have this nourishment of my desires. Please…

I wish I had spent my time on this earth differently. I wish I hadn’t squandered my youth in search of you. I wish I had children. I wish I had friends. I wish I would die surrounded by people I loved. I wish someone loved me. I wish I had asked for life before wealth.

I am alone. And I will die alone.

I wish the genie to rot and decay, that he falls back into shadow and dust. I wish he hides in his lamp and waits forever for a fool who never crosses his path. I wish he dies before he grants another wish. I wish he dies with me. I recently learned that I am petty.

I wish.