Before a Once Upon A Time

A Single Lamp - A Change Of Heart

Story 2 - A Single Lamp.

Part 1 - A Change Of Heart

*Can you already guess what this story is going to be about? I bet you can. You seem smart. I think I should also mention that this story has a fairy in it too - did you know that? And no. It is not the genie. The genie has nothing magical about him at all - well, at least at the beginning of the story. No, he's normal, incredibly normal. Or at least as normal as a rich, greedy merchant's son can be. So I guess I should explain as simply as possible. This story is about the genie behind the lamp. How did he come to be there? And why was it a lamp? Couldn't it have been something else, like a bottle, or a glass or even a slinky??No. It was a lamp. And I know why. But then, I suppose, you will soon too.

Gene was a proud person. Proud of his father, his wealth, his good looks and even his name. Everything about him reeked of money, including the very name Gene. He loved his name. High or well born.  Even if people didn't understand the meaning behind it, every time he introduced himself he felt as if he was telling the other person he was better than them and this was a feeling he enjoyed a great deal.

He loved this feeling so much that if someone had told him he could feel it every day for the rest of his life - even if the price was his whole fortune - he would have accepted. Of course, that is not what happens, which is a little unfortunate, because that might have made for an interesting story too.

But no. Instead, he invented the idea and practice of, well; I suppose the best word  for it is slumming. He would spend time with the ragamuffins, the street kids, just to feel as he was better than them. He never went to them with any money on his person because even after they considered him a friend, he never could consider any of them to be one - after all, a human was not friends with ants and there was good reason for that. If one ever got squished, the human had no reason to shed tears.

Most of the street kids wouldn't dare touch or even come near Gene. His father was powerful and could get a street kid hunted down and executed for no reason - even if it seemed like a reason to him because his son had whispered about some imagined slight the child had caused him in his father's ear. The few that did come near him were normally those who felt like they had little to lose - or who thought that if they were friendly enough, one day he would slip up and they could get some cash off him.

He spent time with them and laughed at their stupidity. In fact, when one of his 'friends' would get caught and killed, he went to their execution to laugh and said this was his way of honoring the loss of the plague on the city. Not the loss of a friend, a companion or even a human. Of a plague, a pestilence, a disease. And when he had not chose the time and place of their meeting that was what he treated them as. If he even gave his attention to one of them for a moment, it was when one of them dared to do something audacious, such as touch him, a casual action that they had done millions of times before, and the only difference being the people that were around to see it. 

Even then, when they would do something so stupid, he would only shrug them off or spit in their face. He rarely got aggressive enough to grind his heel into their fingers, though it did happen on occasion. He thought that this action gave them too much worth, that the action meant they had gotten that amount of rise out of him, and they weren't worth even that.

When they did meet, if he wasn't acting above them by laughing at their stupidity, he was teaching them lessons on why never to do certain things. And these were not pleasant lessons. They were bloody lessons, given with fist and elbows, and sometimes even heavy objects or whips. His weapons of choice left no open cuts or bleeding wounds so there would be no risk of them becoming ill from infection.

If one of his 'friends' got sick, he simply killed them. There was no one to stop him. Most of those who visited him had less than normal - they were missing even friends or fake families made of groups of other equally filthy orphans. They wouldn't be missed, even if they did disappear. He couldn't have anyone he ever associated with be sick - they might spread it around the city or, worse, infect him.

There was however, one group that threw him off. They weren't quite like the others. They were different in that they weren't alone. It was a girl, not much younger than he, at 16, so perhaps maybe 14 or 15, and her younger brother who was probably somewhere around 7.

The street kids lost count of age - all that mattered were the seasons. Was it cold? Then they needed shelter. Was it warm? Then they needed to find water.

But these two were different. They came to sit and watch him but never spoke, never intruded on the conversations or interrupted the fights. In fact, Gene begun to realize after a short amount of time of them appearing in the group that he never seemed to see them come or go - they were just there. They got there before him and stayed until after he had left, without fail, no matter when that was or where they were meeting. They were less like the others kids, filthy dogs, slinking off to deal with whatever had entered their minds, and completely  ignoring their gracious human who allowed them to do so. No, they were more like  the dolls he had seen his father’s servants selling at market. They stared and stared and stared, never seeming to blink, or if they did, it was at the same time as he did. They stared and watched and admired, never relaxing, never speaking, never showing emotion. This was a talkative age for girls and a loud age for all children, yet they made no sound, like ghosts.

After a period of mild curiosity over this, it began to frustrate and aggravate Gene. Why did they never speak? Why were they always there if they didn't take part in the conversations, the fights? So he made a decision. The next time he went to see the rag-a-muffins he brought a knife. He was going to make them speak, one way or another, even if it was to scream as he cut into their flesh.

He went after the boy first, sitting still in his sister's lap as always. He flashed the knife at the boy, who looked passively at it. His sister reacted more, standing and pushing her brother behind her. She did not speak, did not show any emotion but she would not let Gene past to her brother. Fine. If that was the way she wanted it, that was the way it would be. She would have to take the beating for both of them. He hit her with his fist and she crumpled to the ground for a moment and then stood again, a bruise already beginning to form on her jaw. She wouldn't let him past, though she knew that even that single blow had knocked many fighters more experienced and stronger then her out cold. He took the knife and touched it to her face. She didn't flinch. He was clumsy with a knife - he never really used one. Today though, he saw how much fun it would be to carve a pattern out on the pretty skin of her face, make her feel the pain he felt when he thought of her face, silent and cold, staring at him, judging him. He pressed the knife into her skin, just enough to draw blood and then he saw it. The blood. It fascinated him. He wanted to examine it forever, silently watching it. Without realizing it, he paused and the girl spoke for the first time."Let it go."

The knife clattered to the ground as the girl looked at him with disdain and broke another rule, another rule in the set of rules created by her own actions that Gene had come to rely on; she picked up her brother and left. Gene stood dumbfounded. It took him a few minutes to collect himself before he went searching for his knife. It wasn't there. Stupid thieves. Took what was his, kicking him when he was down. Or maybe he was the stupid one, to hang around those who would steal from him without a second thought. He went home early that day, contemplative.

When he came back the next day, they were not there. Nor were they the next. Or the next. It began to bother him. He grew restless and showed up less and less to the get-togethers. Eventually, he realized he wasn't going at all, and hadn’t been for quite some time. On a whim, he went to the normal meeting place to find it deserted. Of course it would be. His money was the only reason the urchins had met up every day anyway. When he stopped coming, there was no reason to continue, was there? And he no longer felt the need to be part of the group either. Yet, he still did not feel his curiosity was sated. What could he do?

He began to take long walks through the city.  These lasted for years and he slowly became less self absorbed. It was amazing really, he thought. This giant change in his character has all started with a silent girl's words. This made him wonder. It had been a few years. Where was she now? He supposed he would never know.