THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

Ah, another glorious day in my cozy little brass prison. No windows, no air, and no company—just the suffocating quiet and the occasional spider. Even they don't stay long. Guess it's hard to make friends when you're an ancient being trapped in a cursed lamp for a few millennia.

Honestly, I stopped counting the years. Occasionally, some poor fool rubs the lamp, and poof! I'm free for about five minutes. Grant some wishes, watch them waste their chance at greatness, and then it's back into the lamp. And every time, there's that one thought: Maybe this time.

Maybe this time, someone will wish for something that isn't completely idiotic. Or better yet, someone will look at me—the all-powerful but exhausted genie—and think, "Hey, how about I set this guy free?"

But I've learned not to get my hopes up. Here comes another bright-eyed idiot, likely to blow their three wishes on the usual nonsense. I feel the tingle as the lamp is rubbed. Showtime.

POOF! Out I come, a swirling cloud of smoke because I've got to keep the mystery alive. "Greetings, mortal! I am the great and powerful genie of the lamp!" I announce with as much dramatic flair as I can muster. "You have summoned me, and I shall grant you three wishes. But before we begin, let's go over the rules: no wishing for more wishes, no love spells, no raising the dead…"

"I want money!" interrupts the mortal, his eyes glinting with greed.

Oh, of course. Money. They always go for cash first. These people follow a universal playbook: Step 1, get rich quickly.

I force a smile. "Ah, yes, money. Because that's never gone wrong for anyone, ever," I mutter under my breath. "Alright, one lifetime supply of dollar bills, coming right up."

POOF! Gold, cash, diamonds—it all piles up around him. "Good luck dodging the IRS," I add, but he is too busy rolling in his newfound riches to care.

"Next wish?" I ask, knowing full well what's coming next.

"I want to be famous!" he declared, barely containing his excitement.

Fame. Why am I not surprised? Nothing says happiness like being hounded by fans, stalked by paparazzi, and criticized by complete strangers online. But who am I to crush dreams?

With a sigh, I wave my hand. "Right, fame. Because what could go wrong with that?" I mutter.

POOF! Just like that, he is the most famous person on Earth. Everyone's talking about him, but give it a week, and he will be forgotten.

"And your final wish?" I ask, already resigned to disappointment but holding on to that faint flicker of hope. Maybe—just maybe—he'll think beyond himself and say, "You know what? You've been doing this long enough, genie. How about I set you free?"

Instead, I hear, "I wish I could eat whatever I want and never gain weight!"

Of course. I sigh, feeling my hope crumble to dust. "Ah, the pinnacle of human ambition," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "A magical metabolism. Because who needs inner peace when you've got donuts?"

POOF! Wish granted. He tosses the lamp aside, too busy dreaming about his carb-free future to even say thanks. Just like that, I'm sucked back into the light, the world shrinking into darkness.

Back to the silence. Back to the waiting.

***

I don't know how long passes before the next mortal finds me. Time blurs when you're trapped in a lamp. But soon enough, I feel the familiar tingle again. The lamp's being rubbed. Oh, joy. Here we go again.

POOF! Out I come, swirling smoke, theatrics, the drill. "Greetings, mortal! I am the great and powerful genie of the lamp! I shall grant you three wishes, and before you ask—no wishing for more wishes, no love spells, no raising the dead."

This one, though, seems different. This one doesn't immediately blurt out a wish for money or fame. This one is staring at me, looking… thoughtful?

"Well," he finally says, rubbing his chin, "I guess for my first wish, I'd like… a huge house."

Ah, there it is. The typical stuff. "Right. A mansion coming right up," I say, waving my hand.

POOF! A grand, luxurious mansion materializes in the distance. The guy's eyes light up, but he's still not rushing through his wishes like most. I raise an eyebrow.

"And for the second wish?" I ask.

He hesitates, thinking again. "I guess I'd like a private jet," he says after a moment.

Private jets, huh? Because who doesn't want to burn fossil fuels for the fun of it? "One private jet, coming right up," I say, waving my hand again.

POOF! A sleek, shiny jet appears next to the mansion. He grins, clearly pleased with himself, but there's still something off. He's not greedy or frantic like the others. He's thinking.

"Okay," I say, my voice a little gentler now. "You've got one more wish. What's it gonna be?"

He scratches his head. "Huh… I don't know what to wish for next."

I blink. Did I hear that right?

"I mean, I've got the house, the jet… What else is there?" he says, looking at me. "What do you think I should wish for?"

My heart—or whatever passes for it—jumps. Is this it? The moment I've been waiting for. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. Well… you could wish to set me free. The thought crossed my mind, but I couldn't say it out loud. My hands clench in anticipation. This is it. I can feel it. There must be a way to suggest he free me. But how?

"Maybe you can make a wish for someone else? To give freedom to someone who has been imprisoned for centuries?" I finally said, holding my breath in desperation.

He pauses, really thinking it over. I can see the gears turning in his head. I hold my breath. Maybe this time, after all these years—

His face lights up. "I've got it! I know what my last wish should be!"

I brace myself for freedom, ready to finally break these chains.

"I want a Lamborghini!"

I let out the longest sigh of my eternal life. Of course. A Lamborghini. Why would anyone care about the ancient, tortured being who's been trapped in a lamp for thousands of years when they can have an overpriced sports car?

With a resigned wave of my hand, I grant the wish. "There you go. Enjoy your new toy," I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

POOF! A shiny red Lamborghini appears in front of him. He grins like a kid on Christmas morning and hops in, revving the engine.

"Thanks, genie!" he calls out, speeding into the distance.

And just like that, the lamp hits the ground, and I'm sucked back inside. Back to the silence. Back to the darkness. Back to waiting.

I sit in my cramped little lamp, feeling the familiar weight of loneliness pressing down on me. I try to laugh it off for the hundred-thousandth time, but it's harder now. You'd think, after all these centuries, someone would care enough to set me free. Someone would notice the sadness in my eyes and the exhaustion in my voice.

But no. It's always houses, jets, and fast cars.

I could change the world. End wars. Cure diseases. Rewrite history. But all they ever want is more stuff. More money. More fame. More toys.

Every time they walk away, leaving me in this prison, it gets a little harder to believe that someday, someone will set me free.

But maybe… just maybe… the next one will be different.