Friday, December 09, 2005

So here's a new program for Friday. I hereby dub this, "Fiction Friday." Every week, I'm going to post an installment of "If Wishes Were Shoes." Behold, Chapter One:

My name is Max Topp. I know it’s a pretty boring name for a Wishpair man, but it’s the name my mother gave me. She probably thought that I’d just be one of the Wishbringers, but Mrs. Topp’s son is just a little bit smarter than that. At the age of fourteen, I took the Wishpair test and received the highest score ever. I realize some of you might be unfamiliar with the whole Wishpair concept so allow me to explain.

My people are what you might call fairies. We don’t look like fairies or leprechauns or genies, but we do grant wishes. One might even say compulsively. Someone says, "I wish...," and if a Wishbringer is in earshot, most cannot resist the whole "granted, POOF’ thing. Now anyone with a smidgen of imagination can see where this can frequently be a bad thing. It used to be that people mostly wished for piles of gold, a pot that always gave food, or eternal life: inclined to go badly for the wisher, but, in the grand scheme of things, not terribly damaging. Now we live in a narky "global" society; everybody has been taught to think "for the world." For the first time in history, Wishbringers became distressingly conversant with the term "collateral damage." Thus the Wishpair service was born. Coralbell, the first Wishpair woman and now head of our organization, realized that somebody needed to start fixing humanity’s more disastrous wishes.

"Disastrous?" you might ask. More than you could ever know. It used to be, back in the fifties, when Buck Rogers and space travel were big, that some kiddo would wish that she could defy gravity, never suspecting that a weak-willed Wishbringer was lurking nearby. Faster than you could say abracadabra, that kid would be shooting off to the far ends of the universe off of one tiny jump. This is where someone like Corabell would come in, using her powers to stop the poor chump’s unscheduled flight, getting her to unwish her wish, and wiping her memory. If a memory couldn’t be wiped, she’d buy the victim or witness off with one, supervised, wish. Course, that was then; now, when some idiot Dungeons and Dragons groupie opens his mouth, to take an example NOT at random, he wishes that gravity no longer existed. So, as the universe began to implode, (two weeks ago, at three twenty-five AM,) I, Max Topp, Wishpairman extraodinare, rolled out of my bed to return the world to safety. And I guess that’s really when it all began. See, there was this girl.

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