The Unicorn Problem

Really kid, are you sure you want me to give you a unicorn? They aren't as great as you think they are. They're quite dangerous really and...

UNICORN, UNICORN, UNICORN! I want a sparkly, pink unicorn.

"And then," I said, "in a matter of minutes there was little kid blood everywhere."

My boss did not look up from his paperwork.

"I just, I think it would be better if I could be assigned a different object to inhabit. You know, not a shiny pink unicorn statue. Something more ominous like a bent and twisted pewter candelabra or a even something boring like a lichen covered stone."

"What's wrong with your current object?"

"I just told you. It's getting kids killed. All these little girls, they see my statue and instantly have 'unicorn,' on the brain, and when they pick me up, that's the only thing they wish for."

"We're in the business of wish granting, McClaighleigh, not saving lives."

"But they don't understand that unicorns are flesh-eating monsters with needle teeth and appetites like a T-rex!"

"Not our problem," my boss grunted and waved me away.

And so I went back into my unicorn statue and waited. Waited until I was sold at a garage sale or donated to a children's charity or dropped off at a preschool or given to another female family member or neighbor girl or a family friend's daughter.

Over and over. I must have caused the deaths of upwards of several thousand children. Most objects would have awoken some scrap of intuition, some kenning of the unknown. If I had just been assigned a porcelain doll for example, humans would have caught on -- called me a cursed object and locked me away in some basement or attic. But no, no one was suspicious. No one had traced the blood trail.

Eventually, I was purchased at a garage sale by a small girl. She paid the dead girl's parents a quarter for her impending death. They would have charged her more, but she reminded them of their buried daughter. She had the same dark curls. The same missing tooth smile. But she had green eyes. Green like the color spring leaves reaching towards the sun after a morning shower. Eyes full of life that soon would be dull, cold and empty. 

As soon as she got home, the girl ran her fingers over my statue. Rubbed my blocky nose, tapped my pointy horn and stroked my long pink mane. Even if I wasn't the cause of so many deaths, oh what I would give to be something less intimately touchable. Why not an old oil lamp like kids learn about in stories?

Puffs of smoke, flashes of light, thunderclaps and poof. 

"I am the genie of this unicorn. You, master have awoken me from my slumber. What is your name, oh great Lord?"

"I'm not a lord. I'm just a little girl."

"Your touch has released me from my statue. I am your slave until your three wishes I have granted. Please, master, what is your name?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

This was a new one.

"I see you are very wise young master. And you are obedient to your parents. How may I be of service to you?"

"Can you clean my room?"

"If that is your wish, then I will be glad to do it."

If she was this unimaginative, she might actually survive. And if that was the case, I could happily spend the rest of my time in her possession, possibly years, years, of not murdering children. 

"It's not really messy right now, though. Could you do it later?"

"If that is your wish, then I will do it."

"What else can you do?"

"I can do anything except directly giving or taking life, which includes making dead things alive again, or defying the space-time continuum. To be clear, is your first wish, that the next time your room requires cleaning, I am to clean it for you?"

"Maybe. What's the space-time continuum?"

"It is..."

How exactly does one explain that to a five year old?

"Well it's...it's why time travel can't really work, among other things."

"So you could give me butterfly wings?"

Better than a unicorn, surely. But, still not ideal in the long run. Of course, modern medicine could probably remove them with no ill-effects. Unless of course she wasn't very specific with her wish, and then I'd have to turn her into a butterfly, which would be less than ideal, but still better than a unicorn.

"Can you?"

"Uh, oh, yes, of course, I can do that. Is that what you would wish of me, young master?"

"Would it hurt?"

"Yes, possibly. Or maybe not. I haven't done it before."

"What wishes have you granted?"

"Only ever one. A wish for a sparkly, pink unicorn."

Oh gods! I thought I had escaped my fate.

"Why only that one? Are you not very good at granting wishes?"

"Well, no. It's because unicorns eat people. So my masters wind up dead before they can ask for any more wishes."

"That's very mean of you not to warn them that their wishes will get them killed."

"I do warn them."

"You tell them that the unicorns will eat them? And they still wish for a unicorn?"

"Well, no. I tell them that unicorns are very dangerous."

"My mom says that's like lying when you don't tell the whole truth. You can get punished for that you know. It's two days without TV."

"I never had a mom to tell me things like that."

"Well, you should have a mom. Then, you would know how to be good."

"Is that your wish then, my young master? That I should have a mother to teach me?"

Was such a wish even possible? What would the ramifications be?

"You look to old to have a mom to teach you things like that. You have a beard like my dad. You would have to be a little boy, then your mom could teach you things."

Human? Was this child going to wish that I was human? What would it be like to be mortal? To sleep in a bed. To walk around. To smell and taste and touch.

"You wish for me to be a little boy then?"

"No, I don't think so. The boys at school are mean to me, and I wouldn't want you to be mean too."

"What do they do to you so that I may make them stop my young master."

"They tease me and call me names like dummy and stupid."

"Why would they do such horrible things? Surely, you are quite smart. You ask many good questions, my young master."

"That's only because I'm talking to you. I can't talk to anyone else."

"Why not? Has someone made you afraid to speak?"

"My brain just won't let me. That's what my parents say. They say it just works different. See that board over there? That's my talker board. I press the buttons, and it says the things I want. Like, 'drink water,' or 'read me a story,' or 'I'm sad,' stuff like that."

"But why me then?"

"Because you're probably not real. You're probably just pretend from my imagination. Like when I talk to my teddy bear."

I did not want to tell her that I was in fact quite real, lest she no longer be able to speak to me and thus lose a companion. But on the other hand, if she did stop speaking to me, I could be assured that she would not possibly ever wish for something that could harm her. I wanted to help her, but suggesting wishes is of course forbidden.

"I am glad you can talk to me, young master. How might I serve you?"

She thought about this for some time. I could see her face scrinch up as she worked some sort of tangle of knots out of her mind. She counted her fingers, checking it appeared that she had something in a very particular order. Her wishes perhaps.

"First, I wish that my parents would let me get a dog that I pick."

"Granted!"

Oh the wave of relief. For the first time in my existence, a wish that would not cause my master's murder.

"Second, I wish that the dog is a goldendoodle puppy named Genie..."

Before I could make the dog appear, she rushed on.

"Third, I wish the puppy was you."

And poof.

I am now an eight week old goldendoodle puppy with a collar that says, "Genie."

I am mortal and will not outlive my young master, but I will listen to her and learn to be good. She can talk to me, her puppy Genie and no longer feel alone. I don't know if it will help her brain work so she can speak to others, but I wish that it does.