The Golden Ticket

James lay in bed.

For the longest time, he remained staring up at the ceiling in the mid-morning gloom, half debating on whether or not he should get up or just continue to lay there. At 83, James felt old and tired, empty and alone; he could feel death standing over him, breathing quietly on his neck, waiting for him.

He sighed, then sat up in bed and stared at the curtains that covered his window. The light around the edges signifying that it was definitely morning and that it was time to get up. He added a groan to the sigh as he got out of bed and made his way to the toilet. He didn’t know how much longer he could continue being on his own before he was shipped off to a care home; at that point he would likely have to sell his house to pay the bills.

James pissed and pondered.

He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Most of his relatives were dying, Rachael died first. She was the oldest of his siblings and he missed her. She had a cracking pair of tits in her youth and looked even hotter as she got older. He honestly fixated on her body when he was growing up, because it was the first one he saw changing as she matured. But she was also good company and was always patient with him. Rachel always had time for him and gave him good advice on surviving school and handling their parents. Her help made a huge difference when he was growing up and he always made the effort to keep in close touch with her.

Cheryl never really bothered contacting him as they got older and the two lost touch. With Amanda, it was on and off for a while, before the two drifted apart. Ever since that fateful day when she asked him, ‘Do you want to see my tits,’ things sort of changed after that. James had panicked and kicked her out of his room. Once he got over his embarrassment, he always regretted reacting as he did.

‘Pity,’ he thought.

He always felt that there was something there, a spark of lust but that had all it had been, just a spark, nothing greater – or maybe just an adolescent memory of a missed opportunity. He finished his business and then made breakfast. He was undecided on what to do for the day, he just needed to get out. After all, it was his birthday. James finished cleaning up while watching the TV. The most recent president was making an ass of himself on Twitter, as have all of the Presidents since Trump; everyone was all about likes and upvotes.

Black Mirror wasn’t that far off the mark, he thought wryly.

The business news came on with the usual dire predictions.

He watched the talking heads – ‘God if I knew then what I knew now, I could make a killing in the stock markets. Hindsight, is such a wonderful thing.’

James got his phone and clicked on an app to request a driverless car and the service pinged him back, stating the car’s ETA. This gave James enough time to get ready. When he was dressed to go out, he hobbled outside where the car was waiting for him. In many ways this was the logical progression of Uber and taxis making private car ownership obsolete. He smiled at the irony of it all. Through the app he picked a destination, the door opened and he got in. It closed, the engine kicked in and they were off. That was also another change since his time, traffic noises were almost non-existent now that almost all cars were electric. Tesla’s batteries had improved and car prices were so affordable that everyone could own one.

Elon Musk really did change the world.

James thought on that, then his thoughts drifted into what he had done with his life and all. He had never made a true mark in the world, never climbed to the top of any of the corporations where he had worked and instead had been a steady cog among the junior executives—never making that leap to ‘upper management.’ He had put his time in and retired, old, bitter, tired and alone.

What was worst was that he had no children because he was never able to make a commitment to a friend or a lover. What was it he had heard ... it was from a TV show?

He frowned and searched his memory. Ah, yes, that was it:

‘My legacy will be determined in the coming months. You know what “legacy” means? It’s what you pass down to your children, and your children’s children. It’s what remains of you when you’re gone.’

What Legacy did he have to offer?

None.

The car announced that they’d reached his destination. It stopped in a parking place and the door slid open. James got out, stood up and stretched, his joints popped and cracked, creaking with age. He sighed as he staggered slightly, his aged frame complaining about this abuse. I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to put off the damn cane, he thought to himself. After he exited the car, it left for its next assignment.

The flea market was like any old market, tables were set up with the sellers standing behind them. Some things just never seemed to change; people were shouting and yelling and it was all hard core selling without any attempt to know the customer.

There was a lot to see, and do. He didn’t carry a credit card anymore as everything was done through the biometric chip in his hand; he had been one of the first to sign up to it. Everyone complained about the loss of privacy and all that crap but it made things a lot easier, not having to carry a wallet, or ID for that matter.

‘And what the hell do I care about people snooping on me? They’d be bored to tears,’ he chuckled.

There was a stall with old mobile phones displayed; he even saw an iPod and smiled while reaching over and picked it up, examining one for the first time in decades. These things were positively ancient now, technology had since far surpassed them. Steve Jobs would be having a field day if he knew what technology was like now.

He wandered around the flea market, looking for anything of interest, or anything that just struck his fancy. He laughed when he saw an old lamp, ugly and unwieldy – it sort of reminded him of something from Aladdin, almost like a teapot but smaller and squatter. But it was definitely not an ornament from Bed, Bath and Beyond or the Home Decorator’s Collection at Home Depot.

The lamp wasn’t brass, but a smooth, dark metal. The design was functional not elegant. The metal had been cast, and the walls were thick. The color was more reddish than yellow. It was an interesting artefact – it would look good on his mantle. He walked over and picked it up, looking it over. After further reflection. it did look like it came straight out of The Arabian Nights.

Now where did I hear about this? Yes that was it, funny how the mind works. The older you get, you remember things from your past - he shook his head.

Something about the lamp and King Solomon?

He frowned as he tried to sort out his memories. He’d been watching a lot of PBS shows lately, along with the History Channel and Aladdin with Robin Williams ... he mused on Jinni, the ancient race of beings born of smoke and fire by the Creator. Beings possessed with mystic powers and banished by the Creator when they exercised their free will and refused to bow to Adam, the first man.

Kind of like Angels.

But then again that was fictional...

A big fat balding man walked over and looked him up and down, the thin strands of hair on the dome of his head stood in sharp contrast to the thick hair on the sides. The hair on the right was much longer and combed over the bright chrome domed alabaster top in some vain attempt to hide his follically-changed scalp.

“Are you going to buy it, grandpa?”

He considered. ‘What the fuck, it’ll look good on a shelf.’

“How much?”

“20 bucks and it is yours.”

“I’ll take it.”

He could probably have bargained it down a bit couldn’t be bothered just to save a few dollars. It just seemed like too much effort these days. James walked over and waved his hand over a scanner the man produced from underneath the table. It beeped and once his money was transferred, he nodded his thanks.

“Got it,” the man said - nodding in return. He put James’ purchase into a bag before turning to the next customer, James was summarily dismissed. He smiled and returned to meandering through the market before heading to the car. The return journey was comfortable as he dozed in the back; the car did all the work. It parked outside his house and the door opened up to let him out. Once he had exited with his purchases, the door closed and the car drove off. The house was already aware he was home, thanks to the phone. Because of this the lights and heating were on as was the kettle for a cup of tea.

He walked into the kitchen and tossed his bag on the counter. After getting a drink, he pulled the lamp out of the bag and gave it another once-over.

“What the fuck,” James studied the lamp. “I don’t remember it being this fucking filthy.”

He decided to take care of that right away, gathering up a polishing rag and cleaner. He started the process by rubbing it like he learned long ago by polishing the brass on his army uniform. Suddenly, the lamp began rumbling and he dropped it. It continued to rumble and big cloud of smoke billowed out of the lamp’s spout and began to form into a solid figure.

“Jesus!”

“No, that would be someone else,” the new person in the kitchen rumbled, “But I can turn water into wine.”

James stared and started laughing. This was a man, tall and powerfully built and looking like an absolute power house.

“That’s what I like! A sense of humor.” James said, catching his breath while keeping an eye on his visitor, He got his laughter under control, shaking his head in amusement.

“Indeed,” the voice said again.

He finally had enough wits, and breath, to ask, “So who are you?”

As the smoke cleared the man standing there arched his eyebrow. “I have just appeared out of a lamp. Has popular culture taught you nothing?”

“But you’re not blue.”

No in fact the man had dark mahogany skin, looked ripped with bulging muscles that stretched his skin as he folded his arms in front of his chest and had a completely bald head that glinted in the light. James also noted that he had no irises, but rather jet black eyes; ‘Strange,’ he thought to himself.

The man stared at James, and then placed his head in his hands. “I suppose that is my fault for bringing up popular culture.” He looked back up and shook his head. “Do not let yourself be limited by Disney. I am not voiced by Robin Williams either.”

James laughed again. “Damn, so this is the lamp from the Arabian Nights.”

“Closer,” the genie scratched his chin, “but that set of stories – 1001 Arabian Nights – are also fiction. However, all stories have an element of truth to them. I am a genie, or properly in my language a djinn or Djinni, and I am from the lamp and I can grant wishes.”

James clapped his hands together and started rubbing his hands together in glee as his mind started whirling. “Great, so here we go, three wishes...”

“What?” The Djinni blinked in surprise.

“My three wishes. You just said you grant wishes, well so let’s get going.”

The Djinni threw up its hands in disgust.

“What did I just said about being limited to Disney’s version? Those purveyors of prostituted, polluted, pox-ridden parodies of true culture! First I am to be blue, and now you think yourself limited to three wishes. Am I to be doomed for the rest of eternity to be confused with Robin Williams’ bloviating buffoonish burlesque?!” The Djinni fixed James with a baleful look. “You are not limited to three wishes.”

James just stared in silence for a moment, struck temporarily speechless by the declaration the Djinni had just displayed. I’m going to have to give him a name, saying the Djinni every time is a mouthful. James thought to himself as an aside. “So how many do I get then?”

“Five.”

“Really? You’re not shitting me?”

The genie, no djinn, smiled, “No, I would not shit you; you’re currently my favorite turd.”

“You ... you’re an actual Genie? I mean Djinni.”

“Yes.”

James blinked, hesitated, and followed up, “And I’m your favorite turd?”

“Yes.”

“Should I be insulted?”

The Djinni laughed. “Take it how you want.”

James laughed.

“You’re taking this in stride,” the Djinni noted dryly.

James shrugged. “I’ve never talked to a Djinni before. Should I be worried or something?”

“No. I gain nothing from fear. But most are usually intimidated for a while.”

James nodded, “Makes sense, trust me I’m definitely intimidated by you.”

“There’s no need to be, I’ve viewed your history, who you are, where you’ve been and what you could’ve been.”

“How?” James asked, staring.

“Magic,” the Djinn winked.

“Oh.” James smiled and nodded. “So what are your thoughts?”

“I can help you out I guess, I’m bored, I’ve not been awakened by anyone in a thousand years, let’s see how much fun we can have with this.”

James grinned. “Okay I’m game. If this is all a dream, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Djinn nodded in agreement.

The Djinni snorted and then asked, “So, what’re your wishes? Have you daydreamed in the past what you might ask for if the situation ever arose? In my experience, that seems to be a pretty common approach.”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“So what did you dream about?”

“Well the first thing was I thought about was a joke.”

“A joke?”

“Yeah,” James laughed.

“Oh?”

‘One day a man walks into a bar and to his amazement, he finds a tiny person playing a tiny piano. Stunned, the man asked the bartender where he got this amazing person. The bartender replied that inside the closet there is a genie that will grant him a single wish.

The man dashed into the closet and as the bartender said, there was a genie inside and without hesitation the man wished for a million bucks, but instead one million ducks instantly appeared. Infuriated the man stormed to the bartender and screamed