There was always something to be found on a beach. Sometimes it was solitude, other times it was a decent party. And on those rare occasions it was something more than that. Those were the rare occasions worth writing about. Those were the times that a glint of metal in the sun amongst all the sand and surf could lead to an adventure. Be it a buried pirates treasure, some lost watch with a tale to tell, or a magic lamp.
Just picking up such a treasure was enough to make someone know they had found something great. Old and dull, the sheen long since worn away to the times, unsightly dents in it’s once pristine features, it was still a sight to behold. At the very least an Antiques Roadshow type find, a moment’s fame on television for showing up with a rare seventeenth century cheap lamp. At best? Well it would make a nice trinket for mom’s curio cabinet. Nothing beats a cheap birthday gift!
Rubbing the lamp provided a clue as to it’s true value though. Smoke bellowed from the long slender neck, and suddenly a form stood on the beach, an ancient looking old man, beard growing down to his knees, a walking stick made of a birch branch holding his frail form upright.
It was a shock to be standing there as the elderly man stared back at me, having appeared from seemingly nowhere. The childhood stranger danger warnings flashed through my mind. But he raised a frail hand, the fingers thin and boney, and held up three fingers.
Three fingers. The meaning was lost on me. I moved to speak and stopped myself, afraid I would break the spell, awaken from the dream, not see where everything led. He simply nodded. Three fingers. And a word entered my mind. ”˜Wishes.’
And I knew. Three wishes. A genie. How more zany could it be? Those thoughts lasted only a moment though. It was THREE WISHES! Why ponder it! Just go for it!
And I did. The first wish was simple and typical. A million dollars. I wanted a million dollars. The old man, the genie, grinned and nodded his head. One finger slowly folded down towards his palm. And a large ancient looking sack appeared, filled to the brim! I was rich! RICH! Forget the other wishes! I dug into the sack, pulled out a handful of the... slimy little night crawlers... I dropped them in disgust, stared at the elderly genie. A million night crawlers? How wrong could a wish go? The old man seemed unphased, continued to smile, and said nothing at all. He simply waved his hand, two fingers still standing high, in my face.
I sighed and shook my head. “No... I want to be rich! Make me RICH!” I shouted, the old man continued to grin, and one finger slowly lowered down. And a cloud of smoke surrounded us both. This would be it. Fortune here I come! I could feel it, like a tingling all over me. A tingling that continued to grow, I scratched my chest, my legs, the itching just continued, like a million insects crawling over my skin at once, impossible to fully ignore.
I itched. I wasn’t rich at all... but I was an itch. Now anyone smart would have walked away at that point. I was a glutton for the punishment apparently. And I stood my ground, grit my teeth and ignored the urge to scratch. “Fine, make me a millionaire! I want to be a millionaire!”
The genie’s last finger lowered and another cloud of smoke appeared. Seconds passed with nothing. Minutes past of nothing. And when the clouds finally cleared I was standing on another beach, soldiers in Roman uniforms swarmed past me, my own clothes having faded and changed to that of a Roman Legionnaire. And in that last moment before my memories of the modern world faded and I became a part of the past... well I wished I had simply wished for the genie to get a hearing aid.