Gone!

"You have three wishes to ask for in three seconds" said the genie.

With faith greater than thirty years of living, Kriya jumped out with the words, "One, I want to be a loved and successful author. Two, my daughter. And three, love." She checked her watch in a manner of fear only plausible in school children, as if they were caught eating before lunch time during class hours. The weaves of the belt were in an Argentine fashion, and of a brown that matched the brown of her eyes. Close to a blank brown which suddenly decides to dream.

When she looked up, the genie was gone. Kriya Shah was left with her wishes. Unfulfilled.

She stared back at her watch. She was in Tunisia, North Africa, a little tense of wild animals and wild colours. No, she was admiring Klee's Southern Gardens (or was it Tunisian?) at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, not a care about what to have at dinner this evening. Why, no, this evening she was in a pub in Ireland, eyeing potential dates and returning home with one. But her home was in Belgium, where her bags were packed, ready to fly with her to Cambodia the next morning. Sharp at six. Six. She returned to her watch. The mother-of-pearl dial was set off elegantly against the brown belt. The time was telling. There was no genie, no travels, no wishes.

But she was not one who waited for wishes to be granted by genies, or time. In no time, she changed into her work clothes, forgot those second hand seconds and went out to tend to her nine to five job, which neither began at nine, nor ended at five.

Kriya Shah found herself back into the unfinished canvas at her studio of debts.