The time-travelers tell us it all began on a beach in Portugal, when a nineteen year-old with an overactive social conscience found a genie’s lamp washed up on the shore. Supposedly, when the lamp was rubbed and the wishes were offered, the nineteen year-old first wished to find true love, and then for a lot of something called money. She should have stopped there, but she didn’t. She was a big thinker, this genie-finding Portuguese girl. Most people wish she hadn’t been. When it came time to make her third wish, she decided that she shouldn’t be the only one on earth with the good fortune of finding a magic lamp. She wished that everyone on earth might be granted one wish as well.
None of us knew that any of this was happening on a faraway Portuguese beach, of course. All that we saw was a bright light. That light appeared in front of the face of every one of the seven billion human beings on planet Earth simultaneously, and said to each in his or her own language, the same unforgettable words:
“In ten seconds, you will be granted one wish. Ten... nine... eight... seven... six...” Some people thought it was a joke. Some people couldn’t process what was happening fast enough. Some people were babies, or senile, or in comas. These people didn’t get much.
“Five... four...”
Some people had been waiting for this moment their whole lives, and -- though the opportunity was inexplicably given -- they jumped at their chance to wish their one oh-so-carefully thought-out wish.
“Three... two...”
Some people wished for small things, and maybe they were the happiest of all.
“One.”
Then there was a burst of whiteness and sound, and then, for six years, sheer chaos.
We think it was six years. It’s hard to say for sure. Imagine all seven billion human beings making one wish, with no limitations, all at once. Imagine big, stupid wishes like, “I wish people had four arms!” or “I wish we lived in outer space!” Imagine contradictory wishes.
Big ones, like, “I wish for no more war,” and “I wish our country won every war.” Little ones, like, “I wish Sarah hadn’t married Ryan instead of me,” and “I wish Ryan and Sarah would be happy together forever.” Then imagine kids’ wishes – wishes for bubble-gum clouds and cartoon realities and mountains of ice cream.
They all came true. All at once. Everywhere. And the following six years were like the biggest drug trip you could possibly conceive. Personally, I remember floating in an undefined pinkish-purple space talking with a giraffe about the merits of the film 'Memento' for a time without clear beginning or end.
Things started to get straightened out when those who had made big, thoughtful wishes, took leadership. You can understand how it was – if there’s a woman who wishes she knew everything that was happening everywhere and a guy who wished for extra mustard on his hot dog, it won’t be the extra mustard guy who’s running the planet at the end of the day. The all-knowers and the time-travelers and the world-shapers and the people-influencers and others of their kind rose to the top. They rose to a degree that meant, for most of the rest of us, they almost ceased to exist. They were like a super meta-parliament of power, setting right bizarre wishes and generally bringing order out of chaos on a level far beyond the comprehension of mere mortals.
These days, no one even tries to begin to understand politics. What was once a relatively simple matter of borders, votes, and dictators is now a field of study far more complicated than higher mathematics. I think someone once told me that the city I live in is technically in France on Wednesdays and Thursdays from February through June, and that otherwise it’s ruled by the United States of Everywhere during the day and New Ancient Japan 449 at night. Or maybe it was when the moon is full? I gave up trying to understand, and so did everyone else. We’re all still trying to pick up the pieces and understand what it means to just carve out a piece of normality again.
One piece of normality that people find comforting is tradition. That’s why, in our city, on April 3rd of this year, the mayor declared the celebration of Granting Day. “For too long,” the declaration said, “we’ve been regarding this day with dread and regret. The time has come, on this sixth anniversary of the day that changed everything, to embrace our past and move forward into the future as a Post-Granting society.”
The problem was, not everyone was ready to do that, as I and the other members of the city Sheriff’s Office were about to find out...
[Probably not to be continued, unfortunately. But it seems like a pretty fun set-up.]