Watch this Space for Announcements!

I was bored; I had been wandering the by-lanes of WDC all day, looking over the various constructions and giving my feedback on those that took my fancy. I had seen towering edifices that gleamed of modernity, I had gazed upon cozy cottages that embodied family harmony, I was sick of living vicariously. I wanted my own action.

I kicked peevishly at a small unoffensive stone that lay in my path, just retribution ensued in the form a throbbing pain that electrified me, all the way from my rapidly swelling toe to my teeth. I bent down and peered owlishly at the protruding purple lump. It looked like glass, just the neck of a bottle protruding from surrounding concrete.

I wonder? It even has a stopper. Could it be?

Maybe it was some of the more fantastic creations I had viewed that day, but my mind immediately ran to tales of genies and bottles. Trembling fingers drew out the moment of revelation, but one last twist took off the cap.

A puff of purplish grey smoke and I could see this spare bespectacled figure, clad in rich red robes.

“W-who are y-you? You’re no genie”

“Genie is but the plural for genius, Or haven’t you figured that out yet? We are not slaves of the one who releases us, nor do we owe him subservience.”

The guy had a sarcastic tone that I didn't like, but all I wanted were the three wishes, so I gave a weak titter.

“Mr. Genius, Sir …”

“Call me Genie, I prefer that.”

“But, you just said …”

“This time, it is a nickname and perfectly appropriate.”

“Well, Genie …”

“You forgot to say “Sir’”

I’m wondering if one of those wishes should be spent teaching this officious guy a lesson, but if there’s one thing I have learned from fantasy, it is that three wishes are given for a reason. One - to wish something foolish, two - to undo what the first wish does and actually you have only the third. I’m not going to waste any of my wishes, no sir.

“Well, Genie Sir …”

But he wasn’t listening, he was waving his arms around and those flapping sleeves looked like parachutes billowing in a high wind. His gaze was skywards, with eyeballs rolled so far upward only the whites showed. My teeth started to chatter although I wasn’t cold; the whole thing was far too eerie for comfort.

A flash of green light and this large gilded scroll unrolled in the air, just hovering in front of me.

“Wha … ?” My mouth just opened and closed without anything in the nature of communication happening. In contrast the genie was a picture of efficiency, his half-moon glasses slid down the long slope of his nose as he looked down at me. He seemed to have this gentle regret in his gaze that implied he wished someone more worthy had released him from his prison.

“Please read the terms and conditions carefully. This is a special anniversary offer and you get thrice three wishes. “

He added in slower words, enunciating each syllable, “that’s nine wishes, sir.”

He sure is a genius at being insulting without my being able to point out the offense.

I saw the words flash bright as each condition unrolled before my gaze. Some were pretty long-winded, but everything seemed covered:

All wishes must be made in quick succession.

No single person may benefit from more than one wish.

A group should be formed, of nine people, from friends, family, etc.

The group must be of racially diverse people involved to avoid any accusation of bias at a later date.

The wish must be concrete and not abstract, no asking for beauty, specify what aspect is required to be enhanced, like thick long wavy blond
head hair.

Wishes, once granted, are irrevocable.

You have exactly nine hours to assemble, discuss, decide and wish.

A quill was thrust in my hand, dripping with some vile viridian ink.

“Sign here please, and here and here.”

Three green crosses were marked. I see he still thinks I am pretty stupid.

I just appended my signature as requested and the scroll spiraled into a neat tight roll, to be tucked away in the recesses of his costume.

“I’ll be back in two ticks short of nine hours, do be ready old chap, there’s no second chance in life.”

An exuberant whoosh and the genie-genius was gone.

I had about eight hours and fifty-eight minutes to figure out what I wanted and whom I would pick to share it.

This is what I figured: Grey, White, Black, Yellow, Blue, Purple and Red.

That’s diverse enough, right? So I picked two of each of those suitcase colours and sent e-mails to them or their representatives.

“Dear ---------,

You ( or your loved one) have been randomly picked from the site to share in good fortune. I need just one person from each level on site, so be sure to respond promptly to be included in this special WDC 9th Birthday activity.

If you agree, send me a mail to specify what is your dearest wish.

Do you want more in-depth reviews? Do you want a particular merit badge.? Do you want more participation in some deserving activity? Do you want your wandering Muse enticed back to you? Do you want an awardicon for that unrecognized work? Do you want GPs to spread joy to others?

Remember that Fortune favours the generous and unselfish.

I am not responsible for any untoward effects if greedy wishes are made, all responsibility for the consequences are entirely yours.

Cordially,

Jyo_an

I have created a group where they can post responses and I shall pick out the first of each colour to respond and one more at random, at twelve noon today. Look at your own Inbox to check if you were one of the lucky invitees.

Watch this space for announcements!

989 Words

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Prompt: A genie pops out of your magic bottle and says that

because Writing.com is having its ninth birthday this week,

instead of the usual three wishes, you get nine.

Only there are some additional rules . . .

What are the rules? What happens?