Otto the Wish Sorter
Otto gazed at the pile of wishes on the firm cloud that served as his desk and sighed. There were at least 60 more to go through, and he was getting hungry.
He worked as a wish sorter for Wish Corp, the leading wish-granting enterprise in the sky. As a wish sorter, Otto’s job was to filter out low-priority wishes from high-priority ones, a distinction based on the amount of donations that the wisher sent to Wish Corp each year. He would send the high-priority wishes up a chute to the wish granters above and inform the wisher that their wish would be granted in 1–3 business days. To the low-priority wishers, he would send a canned reply that said something along the lines of:
Hi wisher! Thank you for your wish. Due to high wish volumes we cannot guarantee that your wish will be granted this year but we will get to it as soon as we can.
Otto always felt guilty when he sent this response, and even worse when he tossed the corresponding low-priority wish down the junk chute that led to the grinder, where it would be mashed into a powder used to fuel certain wish granting apparatuses. He longed for the old days, when Wish Corp was just a small start-up in the clouds, with a handful of workers. Back then, all wishes were granted, slow and steady, regardless of how rich or influential the wisher was.
Otto picked up the wish closest to him. Like all wishes before they were granted, it had the form of a large white egg. He held it to his ear and opened it carefully, using his fingers to divide it in two along a crack that ran around its circumference.
A child’s voice rang out, sad and clear. “Please, wish granter, I am lonely. I only have one wish — and it is to have a friend.”
Otto felt a pang of sadness on the wisher’s behalf. He knew he was supposed to send down a automated reply. He was supposed to tell the child that they did not have the resources to grant that wish right now. He wasn’t supposed to become personally invested in wishes, especially if they were from children or any other class of people that did not donate regularly to Wish Corp. He wasn’t supposed to waste time doing research about wishers.
But he couldn’t resist.
He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then did a quick zoom in on the wisher by holding the wish up to one eye. Through the crack on one side he saw a hologram of a boy, no older than five or six, walking alone along the beach, dragging a stick. He wondered where his parents were.
He closed the wish, deciding firmly that he would help the boy, whatever it took.
“Whatcha got there, Otto?”
Otto’s stomach lurched. His boss was leaning against the cloud-banked wall of his office, arms folded across the midsection of his too-tight pantsuit. Standing a head and a half shorter than Otto, he glared up at him through beady black eyes.
“Is that another low-tier wish that you’re gearing up to send to the wish granters? How many times do I have to tell you, Otto, you cannot let those wishes ascend.”
Otto’s boss spoke slowly now, as if he were speaking to a child. “Remind me, Otto. What do we do with wishes that come from children?”
A heat rose up in Otto’s chest as he recited the well-known refrain in a monotone voice. “They are ground up into powder, which is used to fuel wish granting procedures.”
“Very good. Now. Let me see you dispose of that wish properly.”
Otto tightened his grip on the wish and drifted towards the wish chute, his sky-blue robes trailing behind him.
“Otto, I’m warning you, if you don’t throw that wish down to the grinder right this instant, you are fired!”
Otto thrust the wish up the wish chute. Without pausing to look at his boss’s face, he folded his belongings up in a blanket of cloud and was gone.
