Writing Group: Short Story: XXII

One of our prompts recently was that we all wrote down a wish and then drew someone else’s wish from a hat. Then in our writing we answered the wish is the worst possible way as if we were an angry djinn or forgotten wishing well.

Wish Prompt: I wish I were an oscar-meyer wiener.

I have sat here for time immemorial, created by a fey with the last bit of their magic before death. I think the fey expected to become me, the well, to grant wishes after death but I am my own being. For centuries I was respected, offerings were given such as wine or flowers, before a wish was made. I was happy to grant them. Then time forgot me, forgot magic. I rested in the woods for time out of mind, slowly being covered over by ivy. Waiting for a time when I would be worshiped again, appreciated again. 

When the next people found me, they were not good and gentle. They were cruel, tearing at the ivy surrounding me. Ivy that I had once hated for hiding me, I now missed. My stones were exposed, my mouth ever open. I was defiled, smeared with paint, mud, and worse things. There were no more bright flowers or sweet meads, instead stones and trash were dropped into my depths. In defiance I refused to answer all wishes. Those that made ignorant wishes did not know of my power, they were just asking because that is what they had learned to do with wells. 

Until one day when a small child came to my side, they looked into my depths and gently dropped a small carved wooden horse. In a small voice they then said, “my mommy is sick, I wish she were better. I hope my favorite toy is enough for the magic.” They sat then, playing quietly in the grass. It was such a gentle moment and they had given an offering that meant so much to them. For the first time in centuries I granted a wish. It felt good. I felt powerful. I was powerful. The moment was shattered in the next moment by a group of boys that came laughing into my clearing. 

“Why are you sniveling?” The ugliest sneered at the child. The small human took one look at the bigger boys and ran. “What a baby!” I was angry but I could not act of my own accord. I could only act on a wish. 

They obliged, the one that had taunted the sweet child, flicked a cigarette butt into my open maw. “It’s not like wishing wells are real anyway.” His voice dripped with disdain for others and me. “Watch, I’ll prove it! I wish I were an oscar-meyer wieeeeeeneeeeer.”

I obliged in return. One moment an insolent human was leaning on my edge. In the next moment, a single hot dog landed upon the wet leaves. The others screamed, in shock and terror and ran. They crashed through the trees in their panic. I laughed in my silent depths, pleased with my revenge for decades of disrespect and defilement. The wiener was continuous, was aware that he used to be human and that this was his end. I heard his scream that night as a couple of racoons fought over his meat cased form. If I could have smiled, I would have. 

I had no idea what to do with this wish initially but I think this story turned out well. Let me know what you think in the comments. Happy writing.

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