GarniGal's Journal:

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"And for my final wish, I want to win the lottery."

"It is done."

I'd been expecting a poof of smoke, or a Chesire cat disappearing act, but there was nothing. Nothing but the memory of his promise.

I raced right out and bought my ticket, then was on pins and needles all week until the numbers were announced. I forgot a date with Sarah, and she broke up with me over IM. Sure, it ended up being a wasted wish if she could just dump me whenever she got mad, but with the 25 million I was about to win, she'd be crawling back real fast. Hell, with 25 million, I could get someone way better than Sarah. I'd have the cars, the house, the fame, all the things that hot chicks love.

I blew off work on Friday since there was no way I could concentrate. It's not like I'd need the job, anyway.

The numbers took forever to come up, and each new number just made me colder. Nothing matched. What the hell was going on? What had I done wrong?

"Oh, something matched."

He appeared directly in front of me, and I screamed like a girl. Got over it quick though. I was pissed and I wanted answers.

"What is this shit? I wished to win the lottery so make me with the fucking lottery already!"

"But you did win. You win three dollars or another play. I'd suggest taking the money, Jared. I think your luck has run out."

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He should have moved the key.

She stood in the apartment, soaking in the comfort of everything she'd lost. The brown leather couch they cuddled in on movie nights. The tiny table they shared so many meals at. The telephone handset she'd thrown at him during one of their last fights. The hole in the wall where she'd punched through when he told her they were over.

The note on the fridge signed Love, Chelsea.

Her eyes flashed furiously as she pulled the note out from under the magnet. "Had a great time last night... can't wait to see you again... love... love... love..." She tore it into tiny pieces and dropped it disdainfully to the floor.

There weren't any tears as she tossed the dining room chairs off the balcony and watched them splinter on the concrete five stories below. She didn't cry when she slashed the couch and chairs with a convenient steak knife. No wracking sobs when she took her crowbar to the telephone, the television and the stereo.

She didn't bother to lock the door behind her when she left.

He definitely should have moved the key.