Harold sat on a pile of smoldering bricks shaking his head in dismay. How could it all go so wrong? New York was under water. Paris was in flames. There wasn't an inch of the Earth that wasn't in tatters and it was all his fault.

"Nice one," the Genie said as it stood gloating over him, "you made short work of that wish."

"Go to Hell," Harold spat at him.

"Don't have to," the Genie sneered back. "We're already there." The eight-foot creature with the blue skin and ridiculous Arabian Night turban strolled around the wreckage. "You have one last wish. What will it be? Don't rush! You don't want to," he began snickering, "screw it up." His laughter rang off the ruined landscape.

Harold wasn't a bad man. He never wanted to hurt anyone. But being the richest man in the world had brought a global economic collapse. And becoming Emperor of the World had inflamed even pacifists to rebellion.

"I'm waiting," the Genie pressed.

Harold gave a heavy sigh. "I wish I'd never been born."

The Genie hesitated. "That's it? That's your brilliant solution -- to cease to exist?"

Harold looked away. "It'll put the world back to where it was before I found you."

"Pathetic. I would have thought that a clever boy like you would be able to come up with something better."

"Yeah?" Harold said angrily. "Well, if you were me, what would you wish for?"

For a moment the Genie seemed to consider the possibilities but then the moment passed and evil filled his eyes. "Very clever but don't think I'm not on to you. You figure that if you pretend to use your last wish to help me that I won't try to screw it up. Well, you're not the first person to try that trick."

But Harold was intrigued by the fact the monster did have a secret wish. "No, seriously, if you were me, what would you wish for?"
The Genie turned his back on Harold. "Delicious food, piles of gold, and beautiful women to sing me to sleep."

Harold shook his head. "Too much food makes you fat, gold is just metal, and beautiful women can't always sing. No, in all the stories the thing a Genie wants most is his freedom. I can grant you that, your freedom."

The Genie looked down at him with disdain. "So nice of you to offer. But the one thing all the stories forget to mention is the fact that someone must be a slave to the lamp - the power must be contained. So, for me to be free, someone else must become a slave. How about it, feel like signing up for an eternity of servitude?"

Harold looked around at the broken buildings. What did it matter? Maybe the Genie could do more with his freedom than Harold had. "Fine, I give you your freedom. Genie, my third wish is to exchange places with you."

The words were barely out of his mouth before there was a flash of light and Harold found himself standing. Before him sat the Genie, now a man, and Harold could feel the power of the Universe flowing through his veins.

"What have you done?" Shouted the Genie.

"I've granted your wish," Harold said, in a voice that reverberated like thunder. "I've set you free."

The Genie looked stunned. "But . . . But . . ."

"Just a sec." Knowledge was filling Harold's mind. He now knew the origins of life. Shakespeare did write his own plays. Alexander the Great - wasn't. And the Illuminati were running the world right up to - "Hold on," one thought was now burning bright in his skull, "you still have one wish left."

"What?"

"At the moment that I made my wish to exchange places with you I had one wish left. It's a technicality but, by rights, you're entitled to a wish." Harold smiled and it was anything but comforting. "So what'll it be?"

The Genie also understood the ramifications. "You won't get away with this. I'll just wish to exchange places with you."

"And I'd wish the same. And we'll go around and around forever." His smile grew into a grin. He knew the prospect of an eternity repeating the same wish would terrify the Genie.

"I'd out last you," the Genie bluffed.

"No, you wouldn't. You've lived this life so long you'd rather die than keep at it. That's why you twist everyone's wishes into nightmares - spite. You hate your life. But now it's your turn to make a wish. Make it a good one."

A million years of ruining people's hopes and dreams filled the Genie's head. There would be no mercy for one such as him. "If you were me, what would you wish for?" The Genie asked, desperate for help.

Harold already had his answer. "I'd wish that I'd never been born. With that one wish you'd reverse a million years of cruelty. You'd fix a million wrongs."

The Genie was almost speechless. "That would be the first selfless act I've ever committed."

"And the last," Harold added. "But the choice is yours - an eternity of playing Tag or a single moment of redemption."

The Genie considered this. He'd long ago lost interest in pleasure, or power, or even life. He'd immersed himself in hate, anger, and spite. Given his useless existence oblivion didn't seem like such a bad idea. Would the universe forgive his sins if they all went away? All he had to do was wish for it.

"Yes," Harold agreed, reading his thoughts, "all you have to do is wish for it."

The Genie stood there and for the first time in a million years felt something akin to hope. "I wish," he said. "I wish . . ."