The Box

She had found something that would mean she’d never be poor again - but there was a catch. In order to use the wishing star, she would have to give up something of equal value to the desire of the wish being fulfilled.

She wasn’t a fool. She knew that wishes had a way of backfiring and that everything magic came with a price of unknown consequences. The fact that she wouldn’t be able to choose what she gave up as payment made the whole thing harder. The unpredictable and yet expected loss of something unknown was terrifying.

If she had a choice, she’d give up her voice. What did a writer need with a voice anyway? But, more than likely, the wishing star would choose to take away her creativity, leaving her a successful author with bogus work that, under normal circumstances, she could have never written.

Maybe the trick was to wish for something insignificant. Something you hardly wanted at all. Like she really didn’t want to deal with a relationship right now, so if she wished for a prince charming her desire would be low, and so the cost would be equally low. Right?

If it were up to her she would just wish that this damn thing hadn’t fallen into her possession at all. She wanted to be a rich and famous author, but she wanted to do it on her own. Having this wishing star was like a tantalizing whisper in her ear, telling her she could skip the hard parts and go right to the end where she was happy and writing. Writer's block sucked.

Actually, what could the wishing star take from her if she simply wished it away? Would it disappear before it could come up with a punishment for the use of its magic? The silly part was, she could have just ignored the damn thing or gave it away. But here she was. In her writing chair, holding the old wooden box in her cupped hands postulating the best way to get maximum benefit with minimum sufferage.

The thing looked ancient and had drawn her in by shimmering slightly in the sunlight at the antique store. She could have sworn it had writing on it, but it seemed to somehow disappear under the surface of the wood. When she picked the box up to check, her whole body had shivered and she felt a rightness to the feel and texture of the sanded wood in her palm. It was small. Just barely the right size for holding a necklace, and at the store, it felt empty and hollow. But now that she was holding it in her hands at home, it felt heavy and her shoulds ached with the burden.

Maybe she could wish for something vague, like just what she needed, or something. How can you measure desire on something abstract like that? Maybe the opposing consequence would be just as abstract. She would get what she needed but never achieve what she wanted. Would that mean she’d get her rent paid forever, but never become an author?

“This is stupid, Kat, just throw the thing away!” she yelled at herself. Her body jerked like she was planning to stand up but the action remained incomplete as her bottom fell back onto her desk chair. She couldn't stand up. It wasn't a loss of balance or a case of vertigo that made her body jerk back to the seat. There was a pull, or maybe a push, at her hips that forced her to stay planted firmly in her chair.

The man at the antique store said that the wishing star had a way about it.

"That there is a wishing star," he'd said.

She looked at the box and then back up at the gray eyes of the store owner. Her eyebrows raised high on her brow, now believing a work of it. His gray hair feathered over his face.

"What makes it a wishing star?" she asked, unable to help herself. Maybe she needed to believe this man despite her own logical misgivings.

He rolled his eyes, "It's got a star inside, that's what."

"So it grants a wish?"

"If you wish on it it does. But never do so lightly. You lose as much as you gain, and once it chooses you, you must make a wish. It will take a wish from you if it must."

She hadn’t known what he meant by that, but now as she panicked about being stuck to her chair, she had another idea to try. Just to be completely sure she was stuck with the damn thing, she ordered her hands to drop the box. Her figures twitched. Her wrist did a funny jig. The box stayed in place.

“I don’t want to make a wish!” Kat yelled at the box. “So, just, let go!” She made her arms wave up and down, trying to dislodge the box. It stayed in its place like it was superglued to her palms.

“Son of a bitch! Get off me!” she tried to wiggle out of her seat again as she raised her arms over her head, hoping that the damn thing would slide off. As she sat, she started waving her arms like a lunatic. She reflected for a moment on the fact that the box had not stuck to her when she took it off the shelf, nor when she brought it home and set it on her desk. The stupid thing had waited to trap her. She was angry enough at the situation to feel hopelessly indignant at the man who sold the wishing star to her. Frustrated and losing feeling in her arms, she huffed and placed her hands (and subsequently the box) in her lap.

“I wish…,” she stopped mid-sentence. “Ooooh, you’re a tricky bastard aren’t ya. I was about to make a wish. And my desire was high for it to come true because you made me panic. You probably would have taken my life just so I could get you off me.” She glared at the box with all the anger she could muster up. “Fucker.” Her arms twitched as she mentally ordered them to throw the dumb thing out the window. Nothing miraculous happened, however.

She had to calm down. She had to think. She wondered if she would have to cut her hands off like that guy in the movie Saw had to cut off his foot. Was making a wish the only way to get rid of the thing? The store owner had it, and he was able to give it up freely. Maybe he had already made a wish. Maybe there was nothing he wanted to wish for? Maybe if she made a deal with the wishing star she could hand it off to someone she didn’t particularly like. Like the button in that movie about gypsies. Fuck, what was that called? The Llamia? No. Shoot. A curse, she could pass it on as a curse.

Maybe she could wish it to someone else? Someone she didn't necessarily want anything bad to happen to and held no specific desire for. Would the thing have enough presence and sense to realize that if she wished it to someone else it would be the same thing as wishing it off of her hands? Shit.

I wish this thing came with directions.

She vanished. The box fell to the floor.