Never Silent

(Box of secrets by Grey Walker of the Maskwood.)

I strike a match, and the flare of light becomes my entire world. One small world of light and heat, one moment.

One wish.

I formulate the wish as the match burns down, racing to put in all of the necessary clauses. I don’t know if there’s really some wish-granting entity out there, but I have read enough stories to know that – if there is – they have a sense of humor. Love to trip you up.

One match a day. One wish per match. Those are the rules.

Also a rule: no premeditation. All wish must be thought up after I strike the match. No tossing and turning at night trying to think up the perfect wish, the perfect formula. It’s not about gaming the system. It’s about where I am right now. About what I subconsciously need right now.

One a day. Once a day, I go down to the railroad tracks, lay pennies on the rails, strike a match, make a wish.

Does it work?

Strangely, yeah. Mom’s asshole boyfriend left, after all, and she got a promotion. I passed Spanish. If those aren’t wish-granting miracles, I don’t know what is.

Also a rule: Don’t wish too specific. And don’t wish too big. No wishing to win the lottery.

Just wishing for things to be a little better.

The train rumbles through, and I kick back and watch, ready to go collect my smashed pennies soon as it passes…

But that rumble is bigger than the train.

The sky goes bright, brighter than the heart of a flame, and I fumble out the rest of the matches and strike them all at once, wishing harder than I’ve ever wished -