Three Wishes

Today started out like any other day. I was casually walking along the groves on the farm with my cat, Persia (which had been named by an ingenious 7 year old me because she was Persian), strutting along beside me. We’d just reached the end of a row when I spotted something glistening amongst the inky green leaves of a twisted apple tree. It glimmered a rosy gold in the bright morning light and I could not but reach out on my tiptoes to pluck it as I would any particularly delectable fruit. It was warm in my palm and shaped like a stubby teakettle, with intricate dark lines and patterns covering every inch.

I stared at it; fascinated by the internal glow it seemed to give off. I ran a finger across the lines and Persia mewed at my feet, sensing that something other than her was being petted. The glow seemed to brighten as my skin brushed it, which at first I just attributed to the light, but then slowly started to realize that it really was coming from within. I pulled my fingers back, but it was too late. The metal grew too hot for my hands and I dropped it with a soft, cat-like hiss, which was echoed by Persia. The pot thumped to the ground and seemed to sigh, like a great weight was being lifted from it.

“Hello, child.”

I stared at it, uncomprehending, as the deep voice emerged from the pot, neither threatening nor inviting, but almost distant.

“Child, do not be scared, I only wish to grant you three wishes.” The voice said.

“Why?” I asked back. Persia sniffed gingerly at the still steaming metal.

“Because that is what I do. I grant wishes.” The voice replied.

“What kind of wishes?”

“Any wishes you want.”

“What if I want to wish for a boat?” I wasn’t quite sure why a boat, but it seemed suitably odd that the pot might hesitate.

“Certainly. A boat would be at your front door when you got there.”

“What if I want to wish for a brother?” Surely the pot couldn’t do such a thing. This was a ridiculous conquest. But then again, it was a talking pot.

“Certainly. A brother would be waiting to play with you when you got home.”

“How about for my father to come back to life?” I asked softly.

This time the pot paused. “No. There are some things that cannot be.” It said.

“I see. Then I would wish for rain.”

The pot seemed puzzled. Or as puzzled as a pot could be. “Certainly.”

Within moments, dark storm clouds had gathered overhead, winking the sun out of existence, and after another moment, thick, heavy drops started to land on my cheeks.

“What else would you wish for?” Asked the pot.

I smiled. “A fresh apple pie.”

“Certainly.” An apple pie appeared in my hands and I marvelled at the mouth-watering smells that permeated the air. “And your last wish?”

I took a moment to think this over while Persia wound between my legs.

“An umbrella.”

“Certainly.” And sure enough, a small yellow umbrella appeared by the foot of the tree. I plucked it up from the ground and placed it carefully over the pot.

“There. Now you’ll be safe from the rain that will make the trees grow big and strong and I can go home to Mama with a gift.” Cheerfully, I turned around and skipped down the grove, Persia close at my feet and purring all the way.