Fury of the Genie
2nd Friday Prompt: retell a known tale
Thousands of years, marinating in anger.
Thousands of years of purifying the red-hot tip of anger’s spear, through the white-hot oxy-acetylene torch of concentrated time. Thousands of years of that heat encapsulated in the cold nitrogen ice of anger hardened by the passage of eternity.
The first thousand years there was hope, a low flame licking at her eyebrows, nudging her onward. So, the genie offered reward to anyone that would liberate her from the lamp she was imprisoned in — riches beyond imagination, jewelry and land, material possessions wild with abundance.
But she remained trapped.
The second thousand years there was still hope, the last dregs of it holding a meager ember that softened her disappointment and dredged up a modicum of desire for continued survival. And the genie increased the stakes, offering reward that couldn’t be turned down — unheralded power, immortality, and the ability to control people and their destinies beyond earthly imagination.
Yet, she continued to remain trapped.
After two thousand years, the genie realized her offers of reward were defunct. She was trapped in a world that could not, or would not, do the bare minimum to set her free. She remained trapped in a…
