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Charlie's Wishing Box
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Charlie's Wishing Box "Yeah, right! Whatever!", he muttered under his breath as he paid the stooped, little man behind the dusty counter at the dustiest and most unusual antique store he'd ever visited. He took the brown paper and string wrapped package and his change and nodded at the man's parting comment of, "Be wise with your wishes...", as he walked through the door back to the land of sunlight and fresh air. A short and uneventful drive brought him back to the familiar world of his comfortable apartment. He walked over to his desk and set the package down. After taking a seat he snipped the twine and slid the paper off to reveal his latest find, a simple, unadorned box made of rosewood. Age had darkened the grain to an almost even purpleish, inky black. Rotating it in the light revealing patterns of grain that seemed to emerge from deep within the wood and swirl almost like smoke as they disappeared or formed new patterns as the angle of the light changed. "Quite a find", he sighed as he set it back down on the desk with other ancient treasures he had collected thru the years, intricate inkwells, tiny clocks with unusual chimes and movements, scales and measuring instruments from the earliest days of science with patinas almost black, "and quite a story as an added little bonus." The old man at the shop had told him that the box had been at his store for many years and had been sold many times. Each time the owner had eventually returned with the box to inquire if he might repurchase it since they no longer wanted it. And each time he had simply refunded their original purchase price, no questions asked. "Why would they return such a simple and useful box? I could always find a use for it, even just to store old tax receipts or something. How many times has this happened?", he'd asked. "More times than I can remember", the man had replied. "How unusual! Why do you think it keeps being returned?", Charlie inquired further. "When the mind is no longer full of empty wishes, only then can the fullness of the heart finally be appreciated.", was his cryptic answer. "Wishes? Are you trying to sell me a fable?", Charlie had snorted. "Fables sell themselves", he'd replied with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "Well then, sold. What do I owe you?" and the deal was done. He left the room and returned with a soft flannel square. Wiping the smooth finish, and turning it in his hands to admire the mysterious patterns of the grain again. He set it down and opened the lid to reveal a plain interior, finished the same as the exterior but with a bit more contrast between the black and purple streaks of the wood. He closed the lid and pushed the box to the back edge of the desk to admire it and wonder what he might store in it. An old surgical kit from the turn of several centuries past caught his eye. He slid the leather case across the desk until it was in front of him and opened it to admire the gleaming instruments formed for the precise requirements of past genius. "Amazing!", he said as he lifted each instrument and polished its elegantly simple and slightly disturbing form. "So many amazing things in this world. Such a great diversity of excellence and artistry. A toast to excellence is what is called for in a moment like this. But what to toast excellence with....other than excellence? If only I had a bottle of Mouton '65. That would be perfect!" The faintest of sounds, like the smallest of thunks drew his attention to the new box. He pulled it back toward him and felt something roll inside it to hit the back of the box. The impact made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise and tiny jolts like electricity shot up his spine as he stood. "Noooo....couldn't be....", he whispered as his hand moved slowly up the sides of the box to the lid. He kept his hands on the lid as curiosity built like a volcano in the icy depths of the ocean of his mind. Finally the pressure was to great to resist and he jerked the lid open to peek inside. There on the bottom of the box was a bottle of wine, dusty and real. He reached in and lifted it out, letting the lid close with a low thunk and a small chuff of air. Turning the label to the light and wiping it gently with the cloth, he read the word Mouton and dropped it onto the desk. His legs gave out and dropped him back into the chair. His mind reeled and he began to giggle and then to laugh in a wide-eyed grimace of disbelief. "Thank you, sir! May I have another? And another? Thank you, sir!", he blurted out and laughed until he couldn't breath. He bolted upright and reached out to lift the lid again and see two more bottles of wine in the box. "Now this really calls for a celebration", he thought as he sprinted to the kitchen to retrieve a cork screw and a wine glass. Savoring the last mouthful from the glass with a satisfaction that would shame most men, he eyed the empty bottle of wine standing beside its two full brothers and the box on the desk that might as well be empty of other things. "Excellent it was! And excellent it shall be again", he proclaimed as he raised his glass. "A perfect ruby to match the color of this most excellent wine and able to fill this glass is what I wish for now!", his proclamation continued. And he heard a slight tap from inside the box. He opened the box and the light from the lamp turned rosey as it shone on the huge ruby that lay inside. A hint of something almost like greed snuck into the gleam in his eye as he lifted it out and dropped it into his wine glass. Lifting the glass and turning it in the light as he admired the impossible gem. He went to the kitchen to fetch another wine glass and uncorked the second bottle when he returned. He poured another glass of wine and placed it beside the one with the ruby in front of the lamp. Then he leaned down to admire the similar ruby color shining through each glass. "Perfect! Perfect like Heather Leare at the office! God! I wish I had her phone number right now! I'd call her over to share this wine with me!", he said.And then realized what he had said and done and looked and found the seven numbers on the paper inside the box. He laughed the happiest laugh of his entire life and sipped his glass of wine as he strolled to the kitchen to get another glass. "I should call her...I will call her....I can call her... this is amazing!", he shouted as he returned. Retaking his seat at the desk he glance at the paper in front of him and sipped his wine as he imagined the possibilities this night held which stretched out almost to infinity before him. "Man! I wish my penis was two feet long...", he mumbled dreamily and sat upright as an icy realization gripped him by the balls and nothing else. "Oh no! Oh! No! No! No! No! No! I didn't! It couldn't!", he exhaled as he reached for the box and shook it to hear something dense and heavy slap against the inside. "O shit! Okay! I also wish for a 'Do It Yourself Fully Functional Penis Reattachment Manual'", he blurted out. "Painless....With Pictures....Foolproof.....Crap!! This is gonna be a very, very long night!" Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde |
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E gads. Be careful what you wish for indeed! Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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That's a very good story. I'm afraid that if we were to come into posession of such a box, we might also use it foolishly. A two foot long penis!!?? "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened." 
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Thanks for reading and for your comments. I've always wondered, and probably always will, what I might wish for if I could. And what might happen if I actually got whatever I wished for. And how I'd probably screw the entire thing up. A while ago, after a fairly productive gripe session, my friend said to me that if everyone could throw all of their troubles, problems, worries and concerns into one, big communal pile. And then everyone could take turns going up to the pile and choosing the problems they wanted, that everyone would just take the same problems they originally contributed to the pile and leave. I can see how that might happen.  Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde
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