As yet untitled

Prologue

No one believes me when I tell them about the genie sitting in my room. I've had people call me 'insane', 'crazy', 'psychotic', 'schizophrenic', a 'lunatic', and I think that someone even managed to hiss out 'Devil' before backing away wielding a heavy crucifix. I've had my friends laugh and clap me on the shoulder as if it was some big joke and then make an excuse to get away from me. My daily confessions to my family used to end up with my mother pressing her hand against my forehead to check my temperature while my younger sister tried to persuade my dad to call the family psychiatrist.

Naturally, I don't blame them for not believing me. Hell, at first even I didn't believe it. These days the word 'genie' is usually associated with the big blue guy from Disney's Aladdin. It was common knowledge that genies were as elusive as fairies and dragons; in other words—they didn't exist.

Tell that to the purple-eyed mischief sitting on my bed.

"Would you quit typing and make a wish already?"

"Cut it out! And no, I won't until you stop harassing me!"

"Fine, I'm leaving then. Oh and FYI, you MB, my eyes aren't purple. They're an exquisite shade of violet hues."

"I can only raise my eyebrows in defence. What does MB mean?"

"Monkey butt."

Allow me to rephrase my last sentence:

Tell that to the arrogant, self-conceited, brainless idiot who was sitting on my bed.

"I am not arrogant! I just happen to be acutely aware that I am most probably the best looking male in history, or at least the best looking male that will ever come within a five meter radius of you."

"I thought you were leaving."

"Well I was, until I saw that you were spreading filthy, rotten lies about me."

"Look here, I wish you'd leave me alone for five minutes."

"As you—what? I've been waiting around for that?"

"Go away!"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Your wish is my unfortunate command."

"Asshole."

"SOB."

"I know what that means!

'Right… where was I?"

Tell that to the selfish ingrate that was sitting on my bed.

He was one hundred percent authentic genie. Although, how you would define a genie may be quite different from my own personal experiences. You see, this little monster was not blue, or any unnatural colour, in fact, he looked exactly like your normal every day human being, his personality, however, was a completely different thing.

Apart from him being the rude, arrogant, conceited and unfriendly being he was, he had, in addition to this, a superiority problem. Apparently being five centuries old and a genie gives one the permission to feel and act more supercilious than the rest of us "lowly" folk.

"I am not supercilious!"

"Oh Jesus, I thought I told you to go away?"

"Time's up; should've made it for longer."

"Fine. Go. Sit in the corner or something. Hey, what—what are you doing?!"

…us "lowly" folk. It also gives him the ingenious ability to be more knowledgeable—

"Ow!"

—to be full of useless facts, that aren't even historically correct—

"Hey, that's not fair. They are historically correct! I was around when everything happened, remember?"

"Yes, but who'd take your word over a scholar's?"

"Everyone who's met me, you know, besides those who aren't smart enough to comprehend the truth."

"I don't care! I just want to finish!"

"What's the point if you haven't been telling the truth?"

"Ugh—you know what? Fine! Fine, I'm stopping here."

Here ends the prologue. Why? Because genies smell. And are annoying, meddlesome losers that can't keep their extraordinarily large noses out of other people's business.

Without much more ado, thus begins my story.

"Are you happy now? You've just ruined the beginning of my story."

"I was bored and you were wrong. Besides… your grammar sucks."

"'Your grammar sucks?' Honestly…"