The premise is that for every wish there’s a consequence, and sometimes those consequences are bad. Kill-other-people bad.
“I wish they’d stop throwing paper at me,” Zeke muttered under his breath, then froze. It had been roughly four years since he’d uttered those words, four long years that he’d tried to forget about the genie, about what his wishes had done. He didn’t have the bottle with him though. Didn’t even know where it was; probably in a box in the attic with the rest of the things from his parents’ apartment. He was safe this time, right?
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered.
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