Me, age 9 – My conversation with Mr. Star:
Some people wish to be famous. Some wish to be rich. Some wish to be healthy. And some idealists wish for happiness (ugh, boring).
Mr. Star, for some reason, humans think just because you’re the brightest thing in the sky, you can grant wishes. But you’re just a giant ball of burning gas—sentient or not, you’ve probably got better things to do than listen to the random requests of a hairless species called homo sapiens.
I don’t believe in all that wishy-washy stuff, but it’s my birthday today. And apparently, human tradition demands I make a wish.
We’re not rich. No flashy candles or cakes. But my parents saved up so I could visit the space museum and look through this telescope. So... I’ll humor them.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Mr. Star—(I say “Mr.” because I assume the man who discovered you gave you a masculine name. If I’m wrong, I apologize. I wasn’t trying to assume your gender)—here’s my wish.
I don’t wish for fame.
I don’t even wish for wealth.
I believe people can change their own lives.
But I do wish for this:
There are roughly 8 billion humans on Earth. So if a once-in-a-lifetime, world-shaking event happens, the odds of being the one involved are 1 in 8 billion.
My wish is... let the odds always be in my favor.
Whatever happens—disasters, miracles, mysteries—let it always find me.
I wish for... luck.
Weird, maybe. But I just want an interesting life.
---
Me, age 25 – Writing back to Mr. Star:
Dear Mr. Star,
Saying “I regret it” might be a bit late, huh?
In the last 16 years, I’ve been abducted by aliens—three times.
Survived fifteen plane crashes.
Escaped the Bermuda Triangle alone.
Stumbled into an ancient global conspiracy.
And oh—accidentally pissed off an ancient monster, which may or may not be planning to destroy the world.
Also: I’m wanted in twelve countries.
Apparently, I messed with something sacred. My bad.
Mr. Star...
Well, at least
my life’s been interesting.
Thanks, I guess?
