Wish Upon a Star

A story about the wishes we want to make.

I could always see right through it--all the lies I'd been told about magic not existing. Why? Because I've dealt with it all my life. You see, I have a very special power: All my wishes come true. The only caveat is that it only works through popular wish-making rituals, including but not limited to blowing out birthday candles, losing an eyelash, and seeing a shooting star. However, no one else knows about this, likely due to the fact that my wishes affect reality in such a way that other people's personalities change with them. In this way, I've been able to alter my life several times over without worrying about authority figures wanting to find out why.

         Not all my wishes satisfy me once made concrete. A fine example of this is my latest wish. Last year, I wished upon a shooting star that I would be rich. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. My power didn't guarantee I'd be able to avoid everything unpleasant to me; I grew up in a poor family and remained as such into my adulthood. After I made my wish, this was a non-issue.

         At first, I was living the life of Riley. I lived in a house--rather, a mansion--on the sunny coast of California. I flew all my friends and family over to live with me, covering their housing expenses as well. Possessing all that money inevitably led to increasing levels of greed. If I saw something magnificent, something set at a price so high it was unreasonable, I had to have it. My mansion became a veritable zoo with all the exotic animals I came to own.

         Creature comforts were of utmost importance to me. Luxury was mandatory. I had the softest furniture and a television in nearly every room. My diet largely consisted of junk food. I gambled constantly, but my money never seemed to run out. My life became a bit darker; I dabbled in illegal substances, most often cocaine. More legally, I wasn't a stranger to alcohol. I went through romantic relationships like I went through cars. Soon my kith and kin were worrying about me. But their warnings fell on deaf ears. My deaf ears.

         There was no definitive last straw for them. All I know is that one moment I was banging on doors, demanding parties, and at the next moment, everyone was leaving me. My own brother punched me in the face, disgusted as he was with my treatment of others as mere objects, extensions of my greed. All my late-night drunken and drug-addled antics eventually got me into legal trouble. My wealth really did seem to be dwindling, if not, my contentment.

         Now, having realized that I've hit rock bottom, I'm going to derail the gravy train. I'm going to wish I were no longer rich. The time is 11:11 p.m., a time when it's rumored wishes are answered. It occurs to me that I'll be wishing while drunk for the first time; I ponder the hypothetical consequences, but shrug them off. I close my eyes and think of the life I've led, how lucre has ruined me and my relationships. I make the wish.

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         I wake up and rub my eyes. I don't recall what happened the previous night at all. I look around and see that I'm in my messy little bedroom in my dingy little house. I look outside and see that it's snowing. This all feels so strange to me, but I can't explain why. I go into the kitchen to make breakfast. I feel like something is missing, that a big change has happened but I am blind to it.

         The phone rings. The caller ID says it's a debt collector, so I don't answer. One of these days, I'm probably going to end up in jail, or homeless. If not, I'm likely to remain nigh-insolvent for life.

         Then I remember. Of course. All I have to do is wish. When the opportunity comes, I'm going to wish to be rich.