By Isaac Law

‘I wish to go back in time,’ Tristan said, cradling the kettle, ‘redo my life with all my current memories,’ he continued, staring up at the weary genie. The genie was dressed in a blue work shirt; he had an ornate golden pin and a conspicuous red name tag.

‘Now, wait a moment,’ said the genie, limply holding an iPad, his finger swiping and tapping away. ‘I’ve… gotta read you the disclaimers, okay?’ he said briefly, glancing at Tristan.

‘So, uh, hi. My name is George, and I’ll be your attending genie this time. No, you cannot wish for more wishes, your package doesn’t include that. If you want to upgrade to our lifetime package, please speak with customer service. You also may not wish anything that damages existence, or as more commonly known, the fabric of reality.’ George the genie slowly inhaled, his hand rubbing his eyes he exhaled, while he dragged his hand down his face.

‘Finally,’ he went on, ‘Wish-a-Wish is not responsible for any consequences that may come from your wish. Did you get all that?’ George said.

Tristan nodded, his foot tapping against the floor. He heard the echoes of sirens reverberate through the air, followed by the sounds of barking dogs.

George extended the iPad, ‘Good, when you have decided on your first wish, press your thumb on the pad to confirm your wish,’

Tristan pressed his thumb against the screen.

‘I want to go back in time,’ he started, looking up at the genie, ‘go back with all my memories and restart my life.’

Beep!

George looked down, confirming that the wish was valid.

‘Okay… everything seems to be in order,’ he said, ‘on behalf of Wish-a-Wish, we hope you enjoy your first wish.’ With a snap of his fingers, Tristan saw and felt his environment distort, moving and twisting incomprehensibly; his vision began to darken and he felt a lightness.

The sound of a crying baby was what Tristan heard first. His vision began to clear up, however, the sense of lightness stayed. He looked around and saw his mother and father standing above a crib, side by side. He realised it was his crib, the one where he would dismissively shrug off when they started talking about how quickly time flew by. But his viewpoint was wrong; he thought he would be looking up towards the ceiling, not as he was now, but that did not matter right now.

‘Mum,’ he said, sprinting over with his hand outstretched and wanting. ‘Dad,’ he stopped right behind them, ‘I’ve missed you both so much.’ His hand reached out and didn’t quite miss their shoulders but instead ghosted through them. For a few minutes, Tristan stood there, hands waving frantically, obsessively screaming anything he could to get his parents to hear his voice.

But it was all in vain.

Tristan could feel nothing, not the warmth of family, nor the smell of a home-cooked meal. He certainly could not touch anything, as his hands phased through everything.

As Tristan fell on both knees, exhausted and despairing, a tired and weary voice chimed, ‘Uh… hi, Tristan. Are you satisfied with your wish? Also, we appreciate feedback, so if you can, please fill out our survey.’ George appeared next to him with prominent dark circles under his eyes and his red name tag, though his golden pin had disappeared.

‘No, I’m not,’ Tristan said, springing up and raising his curled fists. ‘This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to restart my life physically, not be trapped like this.’

‘Right,’ said George. ‘Okay, that’s alright. Please, press your thumb on the device,’ he said as he held up his new iPad.

‘No,’ Tristan replied, ‘My first wish wasn’t properly granted. Fix it,’ he said, glaring up at George.

‘Okay. The customer is being aggressive, not filling out the survey,’ George started scrolling through his iPad, ‘Consider a second wish, okay?’ In a moment, George clapped his hands and Tristan once more saw darkness.

Everything felt right again, Tristan could feel his senses return, all of them, and standing before him, as though it had never done anything at all, was George.

‘What was that,’ Tristan demanded, fists clenched and brows furrowed, ‘you didn’t fulfil my wish at all!’

‘We did,’ George stated, ‘now, please make your final wish,’ he continued, already holding out his iPad.

‘No,’ Tristan said, ‘all I wanted was to make myself a perfect life; make up for regrets and be happy.’ He pointed at George and his voice grew shriller and louder, ‘not whatever I went through. I demand that you give me my perfect life.’

‘On behalf of Wish-a-Wish, we hope you enjoy your third wish,’ with a finger snap, George distorted from Tristan’s view, leaving him alone. The only trace that George was ever there was just the swirling dust that was left in George’s wake.

The sound of the TV drifted throughout the house, and the scent of fried lamb wafted through the air. Tristan looked around, seeing nothing had changed, perhaps everything was simply a figment of his imagination.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Like a ripple in water, the sound of footsteps made itself clear to Tristan, it grew louder, closer and closer until they rounded the corner. It was him, or rather, the better version of him. His clothes were neater and he seemed surer of himself, more confident and more experienced. Both their eyes widened as they beheld each other, one tired and worn; the other more experienced and steadier.

Before Tristan could say anything, his counterpart charged him. His fist flew towards his face, knocking him to the floor, a dark, ugly purple bruise erupting upon Tristan’s face. Before he could react, his counterpart was upon him once more, locking his limbs behind his back. Tristan could feel that any struggle was useless.

‘Who are you?’ Tristan strained to ask.

‘I should be asking you that. You’re the one that broke into my house,’ he said, tightening his grip.

‘What? Impossible,’ gasped Tristan, ‘this is my house. Grandma Martha left it for me.’

‘Likely story,’ said Tristain, his voice soft and slow. ‘The fact that you knew grandma’s name meant that you were watching this place for a long time. I’m calling the police.’

‘Wait, don’t,’ Tristan pleaded. ‘I’m sure we can work this out together,’ he continued, frantically struggling to free himself.

Suddenly, the arms keeping him down left. Tristan scrambled up from the floor and heard a whooshing sound behind him — which was quickly followed by a sharp pain to the back of his head. The ground rushed up to meet him, and his vision grew fuzzy.

‘I hope you rot in a jail cell for the rest of your life, you bastard,’ was the last thing that Tristan heard.