I’ve always been a nice boy. When people saw me, they’d say, “Oh my, what a sweet little boy you are!” The older ladies would remark on my growth, though I think that they were being untruthful. I’ve always been short for my age and those shrinking elderly widows still towered over me. I’m fifteen now, but still only four feet and five inches. People often mistake me for a young child. In fact, one of those ladies had the nerve to invite me to her grandson’s birthday party. Father insisted that I go, and the next day, from the comfort of our own home, he forced me out.


    That was where I met him, or perhaps where he found me.


    I arrived with an unwrapped gift in my hand. I hadn’t known what he’d liked, so I’d brought one of my old model cars. It was an old Mustang, painted a vibrant blue that glimmered in the sunlight. The hood had been dented from years of play. The paint was chipped next to doors from small hands that had gripped at the handles in an attempt to open them. I never succeeded, of course; the glue was resilient.


    I set the toy down at a table marked “gifts,” content on forgetting it forever. The party, if you could call it that, was held in their front yard. The space had been filled with blue and orange streamers. The same colored balloons rose off of some cheap plastic tables, floating close to the ground, as the gas that was used to fill them was growing weak. The babbling of children floated through the air, and pops of firecrackers and sparklers burst through the sound of joyful talking.


    A kid ran up to me. I supposed it was the birthday boy himself because he wore a cone-shaped hat with “9” written on the front. He had a sweaty red face with large cheeks that stuck out around the straps of his paper hat. His voice was irritatingly shrill and pierced through the sound of the sparklers. “I don’t know you!” he stated, squashing up his face even more by pulling out his lower lip over his top and pulling down his blond eyebrows, “Did you bring me a present!?” he squealed.


    “Yes, right over there,” I responded, slightly irritated.


    The child ran over to the table, his grubby fingers searching for my gift. I quickly walked away before he could ask me which was mine. From afar, I watched as the party continued on. Kids cried, parents laughed, and I simply sulked. There was a table in the far corner of the yard. Cupcakes sat on blue and orange napkins, white frosting swirled around their tops. Through the wrappers, I could see brown chocolate dough. They looked absolutely delicious. A sign in front of them read, “Only for August to give out.” I sighed. That little brat would never give one to me.


    That’s when I had the thought that would change my world forever. It was a silly thought, so very simple and not at all necessary, but it came to me nonetheless: “I wish I could have one of those cupcakes.” Suddenly, like magic, one of them was in my hand. My feet were rooted in the same place. I hadn’t moved an inch, “Did I black out?” I wondered to myself, “Maybe the little brat gave one to me afterall?” I scanned the crowd to see if he was giving any out, but I was the only one holding the sweet treat.


    I was so confused, a chill ran down my spine. “I have to leave,” I thought to myself. As if I was a criminal at a bank, I sprinted away from the party, my stolen treasure still in hand. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone--not that I wanted to, anyways. For the rest of that day, I just stared at the cupcake. I was in awe. My father even walked in on me at one point. I think he asked if the party was fun, but I was so focused that I didn’t even hear him. That night I couldn’t sleep. The crickets outside were louder than normal. They were screaming their little hearts out. Their chirps pierced my ears and bounced around my brain until the insides of my skull were sore.


    The next morning I had an idea. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to stabilize my breathing. “Okay,” I whispered to myself, my throat was dry so my voice sounded hoarse, “I wish…” I began. “I wish I had a glass of water,” I thought to myself annoyed with my own voice. I opened my eyes.


    In my hand sat a cold glass of still water. A rush of happiness went through me. I nearly dropped the glass in my excitement. Yet, something was off. The sun was now coming through my window, its rays delicately touching my hardwood floor. Before I wished, I could swear it was only below the treeline. I ran to my desk and pulled out my father’s old watch. He’d given it to me as a gift on my 15th birthday but I never used it because it was always too large for my slim wrists. Its face read, 8:32. The second hand sped by, nearly impossible to keep track of with my weary eyes. I rubbed my face in an attempt to wake myself up.


    This time I sat down on my bed, bundling the blankets up around me. I checked the watch. It read, 8:33. With that in mind, I made my third wish, “I wish I could have a slice of toast.” The first thing I saw after those words was the face of my watch; 8:34. The second thing I looked at was the blankets around me. Not a single fiber had been moved. A smile crept onto my face as I glanced down at my hand. A single piece of toast lay flat on my palm.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    I don’t know why I said what I said next. It just slipped out of me, “Thank you...Shade.” At that very moment, I knew I would never be alone again. These wishes weren''t some random coincidence or strange joke. No, they were done by someone...or perhaps something. A friend, perhaps. Shade. Yes, a friend.


    Anything I wanted, Shade could provide; he just took time. Throughout that week I went “wish crazy”. At least ten wishes would be made a day. I started to keep track of the times Shade took to make my wishes come true in a small journal. Most of the time he took less than ten minutes to achieve my wants. Small things, like retrieving a pencil, took only a few seconds. While larger wishes such as food took at least seven. On one fateful day I tried an experiment of sorts.


    I had just been let out of school and I decided to head to the park. When I arrived, the benches were empty aside from a few birds. In fact, the birds seemed to be the only other lifeform there. They seemed so happy twittering their little hearts out. Their small brown bodies shaking off any water from the morning’s rain. One on the bench nearest to me, I found particularly adorable. It’s eyes were closed as it sucked up the evening sunlight through its puffed up feathers, “I wish I could have that bird...quickly.” I thought to myself.


    Giddy with excitement, I opened my eyes. As my eyes landed on the figure in my palm my heart dropped to my gut. My hand instinctively pulled away, dropping the bird to the ground It’s limb body hit the grass with a sickening slowness. It’s head was bent unnaturally to the side. It’s beady eyes were no longer closed but open wide in fear. A horrified expression ran across my face. The lovely twittering from before was no more. Each of their small voices screamed with such anger that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. My hands clamped around my ears and I ran as fast as I could out of that wretched place.


    After that day I became more aware of my surroundings. With each wish I made, noises around me grew more and more irritating. The clicking of pens in school. The wheels grinding against the pavement. Even the voices I used to enjoy listening to in songs and conversations became gravely and a pain to hear. I no longer went for walks after school. I found my own footsteps to be nearly unbearable. The birds still aggravated me, every time I saw one I would look to the ground guilt building inside of me. If they came close I would flee to the other side of the road.


    I had been finding it hard to sleep. There were so many noises around me at all times. So, with every other wish, I asked Shade to change something to ensure quiet. There were small things, like a pair of earplugs, and there were larger things, like a carpet so my feet would no longer slap on the dry wooden planks. He got rid of my phone; its constant ringing had forced me to feel nothing but anger towards it. He was even able to board up my window so sound couldn’t breach it, not even the birds.


    I now stand in my room, nine months and eleven days have passed since I was blessed with Shade’s friendship. The walls have a fresh coat of dark blue paint on them, courtesy of Shade. He’d taken an extra long time with that wish, seven hours and eighteen minutes to be exact. When he finished, I awoke smelling the headaching fumes of paint. He hadn’t opened the window, unfortunately. Yet, I was fine with it; the smell dulled my senses. I didn’t have to hear the horrid screeching of the crickets or the throaty burnt calls of the birds outside.


    The light is off. If I turn it on, I’m sure the buzzing of energy would be too much for my room to contain. The very light would bounce off the walls, creating a sound unlike one I’ve ever heard before. It would be better if I removed the light bulb; I’m sure that switch will never again rise. My room is perfect. Perfect and quiet. But not silent.


    Father is down stairs. His bones creak with every step. His muscles are unable to contain their sound. He might not hear it, but it''s more than obvious to me. Every step shakes our small home. Every footfall is like a thunderclap inside my mind. But his walking isn’t the worst of all. No, it’s what he’s walking toward. His television. It''s nearly 9 o’clock: my nightmare hour. When he switches on the television for his nightly show, he turns the volume up so high that not even the soundproofing on the door can stop the noise. The show buzzes with so much static I don’t understand why he even watches it anymore.


    His footsteps stop. I check my watch, 9:00pm. The TV clicks on and the buzzing begins. At first, my head feels only a slight irritation. The empty, pitiful voice of the announcer echoes up the stairs. His voice is gravelly but unmenacing. His words are lost among the maddening sounds of static. Father clicks up the volume. The static grows louder. It''s enough to drive someone off the edge. It''s pounding into my skull. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. Ceaselessly, shall it never end? Rage builds up inside of me.


    He wouldn’t understand if I simply asked him to turn it down. He’d just laugh. Such an ugly laugh he has. It''s full of phlegm and carries on for an eternity. It crackles with each inhalation. No, no I mustn’t ask him. Maybe he would listen if Shade asked. Yes, maybe. But how? Not even I have seen Shade. He’s a shy friend. A good friend, but a shy one. Perhaps he can help if I just ask. Father turns up the volume again. The buzzing persists like needles into my head, “I wish this noise would cease!” I shout in my anger.


    Silence. Dead silence. I check my watch. The face reads 9:17. Only seventeen minutes have gone by. A smile creeps across my face. My ears tingle with a pleasant sensation. They aren’t ringing. Even the bugs and birds outside have grown still. I’d jump with joy but my landing feet would ruin the moment. This...this is what pure bliss feels like. Not a single cell simulated with sound. But there’s a weight in my hand. It''s cold and metallic, yet my hand feels warm. The air smells of iron, its unpleasant taste landing on my tongue. My eyes flicker down. Its outline is faint in the dark of my room but, eventually my eyes focus and its shape becomes clear. What use would I have with a knife?