THE THREE WISHES

THE THREE WISHES: A FAIRY TALE FOR THE MILLENIUM

There was once a poor factory hand who was so sick of his miserable
life that he wanted to die. All week he worked to get the money to buy
enough food to give him the strength to go to work all week. It wasn't
living: it was mere existence. As he constantly explained to his
long-suffering wife, it wasn't just that he had nothing, without money,
he was a nothing.
Finally he began cursing God and all his angels for his bad luck,
naming them individually - Abdiel, Gabriel, Michael, Raguel, Raphael,
Simiel, Uriel, and adding Lucifer for bad measure - as befitted a total
non-believer.
One dark and rainy morning, as he trudged to work through the empty
streets chewing over his grievances, a figure eased itself out of the
shadows and began to walk beside him. Not only was he a stranger, but
there was something decidedly unearthly about him. The air seemed to
quiver and dance as he moved. Raindrops hissed and steamed on the
pavement round his feet. And when the wind blew aside his coat, instead
of flesh and blood the man found himself gazing into the darkness of
deep space, a star-lit infinity.
Thinking that God must, after all, exist and had sent an emissary to
strike him down, the terrified man cowered against a wall, weeping and
begging forgiveness.
"Don't be afraid," the figure reassured him, "You've raised strong
objections to the status quo. After due consideration, and to further
anthropological research, it's been decided to grant you three
wishes."
"Three wishes?"
"Whatever you want. THe first three things that you wish for will be
yours. THis is your chance to create the life you've always dreamed
of."
"II want to win the lottery. Yes, that's my dearest wish! It would
solve everything." But the figure had already disappeared. He was alone
in the early morning street.
He pinched himself, thinking he must have been dreaming. If this was
somebody's idea of a joke then he certainly wasn't laughing. Every week
he pumped money into Lottery tickets and scratchcards - anything that
would give him a chance to get the life style he deserved. Did he win
anything? No. He did not. Never had. Not a penny.
But this week it was different. When Saturday came, not only had he
predicted every number, but he'd got the bonus ball as well.
Unfortunately for him, there were twelve other winners and a smaller
than usual jackpot. He fumed at the size of his share.
"It's an insult. Other people get millions."
"But there'll still be enough to buy a nice little house and have a
good holiday," his wife reassured him, "We'll be a lot better off than
most."
"And then what? We'll have this nice little house and I'll still have
to go to work all week to get enough food to keep me going to work all
week. What sort of life is that? I tell you - it's not a life..."
"It's an existence," finished his wife, wearily, "You don't know how
sick I am of hearing you say it. I wish you'd try looking on the bright
side for once."
And I wish you'd clear off out of my sight!" he snapped. She
disappeared without a sound.
He sat and brooded for a while. The silent house and the unlaid supper
table brought him to his senses.
"What have I done?" he cried, "Now I haven't even got anyone to share
the misery of my declining years. Oh, God I wish I was de...