Just One Wish

Just One Wish. Since birth, I could be described as an endless list of small, strange wishes. And now you ask me to choose just one? I have spent days unfolding my heart to read the list inscribed on hidden walls. Which one? Which one? I ask myself over and over. They are all so different. All so disconnected from each other. Which one, and one alone, must I have before I die? 1

Whilst staring at my list, I began to wonder: Why choose any of these? Not one seems of any use to me without every other listed with it. So what is this list? Is it the accumulated tiny parts of a greater wish? My One True Wish? What is it I have fought for, all my twenty years? What is it that can be gained and treasured piece by piece and scrap by scrap? What is it I have been too afraid to admit that I don’t have, but want with all my heart? And there it was. Writ large upon the last wall to unfold before me.2

I wish I was free.3

Free to be me.4

To be true to myself.5

That is all I truly want. Just that one chance. I don’t care how your magic works to achieve this. To free me from this prison cell that is a breathing corpse. To untie these invisible bonds, the knots to which I cannot reach and no-one else can see to help me with. Be you Jinn, God or Fey, if you raise me from this bed and silence those cursed machines that beep and whirr, rattle and hum all day and night, linked to me by shiny, plastic tubes, if you rescue me from the indignities of this existence, which cannot be called life, if you give me the chance, at last, to live, I shall ask nothing more of you. Not to help me succeed in the dreams I hold, for, if I fail, at least I have had the chance to try. Not to grant me more years in which to live, for, if I die, at least I have had the chance to live. Not to mend twenty years of hurt illness has done my mind, heart and soul, for, if I mend, I have lost the chance to be me. Not to give me anything but this one chance that others take for granted. The chance to stand on my own to feet, look the world in the eye and say “This is me.” If it goes wrong, then it’s me who gets it wrong. On my own. Like everyone else. 6

Please, set me free. To live and die. And make my own mistakes in between. This is my one wish, that no number of birthday candles can grant me. And so I ask you. Consider being trapped in your lamp forever. Have mercy. I beg. I implore. I wish I was free.