The Genie

Written years ago… and yes, I should have taken my own advice.

A luminous purple gas hissed out of the spout

A frustrated man walked along the seashore. He had just seen a movie about young rock stars and more than ever he wished he could play the guitar. It was something he had wanted to do for his whole life, but early on he realized that he had no talent. Whenever he tried to learn, his clumsiness and lack of ability balked him. If he had just possessed talent he would have made rapid progress and by now he would be a fine player, a hero in some band. Now he was too old…

Lost in his thoughts, he kicked at some debris on the beach. One object—an old metal teapot?—rolled for several feet and then came to a stop perched upright on its base. A luminous purple gas hissed out of the spout. The man thought to run, but before he could turn himself around he was surrounded by purple haze so thick that he could not even tell which direction he might run to be rid of it. Then, with a soft pop, the haze condensed, solidified, into a large swarthy being dressed in a soft yellow vest that hung open over a broad chest, rich purple trousers, golden slippers with upturned toes, and a turban adorned with a large purple jewel. In short, a genie. He seemed to be sneering.

“One wish, master.”
“I thought it was three.”
“Journalists!” said the genie, and spat.

The man thought. Money was no problem, his health was fair, wife and children acceptable… really, there was only one thing he wanted.

“Give me talent, genie. Immense musical talent.”
The genie rolled his eyes. “Very well, master, you have immense musical talent.” Then he smirked and started to fade.
“Wait! Why are you laughing?”
“Well, it’s rather amusing,” said the genie, and his voice now seemed far away, “you already had talent. And you’ll still have to practice…”

Then he was gone, and the teapot was full of nothing but wind.

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Tagged as: belief systems, humor, philosophy, writing