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Michael sat there, blood dripping from his hands. The world was violently calm around him: the cool Autumn breeze, the starry night sky, and the salty scent of the ocean–all at this moment felt like a dagger of guilt within his guts. He looked at the now-lifeless face of the boy who was once his friend. A boy named Andrew, who used to teach him fishing, share even the tiniest bit of his food, laugh at the smallest of things, and beg Michael to go on “adventures” with him to the rugged mountains.
“The boy who killed my parents.”
Michael whispered, correcting himself.
“Do you regret what you did?”
an unknown voice asked Michael. The boy jumped, his heart beating loudly in his ears.
“...Who are you?”
he answered, quietly, holding his shovel like a weapon.
“Do you regret what happened?”
the voice asked again, disregarding Michael’s panic. He looked around frantically, trying to locate the origin of the voice.
“I do not regret what happened. He killed my parents.”
He answered in a rushed whisper, his eyes still darting back and forth in the darkness.
“No boy, but you do.”
The voice said.
And it was right. Michael got the revenge he thought was necessary, but his heart was no lighter than before. He was even more so in the depths of agony and despair with the blood of his best friend now on his hands. He took a deep, shaky breath in.
“...What do you want…”
he clenched his teeth.
“I want nothing more but for you to be happy, and you will be if you do as I say.”
said the voice with a hint of amusement in its words.
“I can do whatever you want me to do. Just hold me tight in your hands and speak what you wish.”
Michael lowered his stance.
"...What do you mean?”
“Reach inside your friend’s pocket, there you will find me.”
Said the voice. Putting down his shovel, Michael carefully reached inside Andrew’s pocket, finding a dimly glowing egg in his hand.
“You can make anything come true..?”
Michael asked, tears welling up in his eyes. The reality of his situation started settling on him as he considered his life to be. He had no one else left who’d love him. No parents, no friends, and now he was a murderer. He was yet too young to be able to handle this amount of tragedy in his life. “Anything?” he asked.
“That is correct, as long as your heart sincerely wishes for it.”
The egg glowed a little brighter every time the voice spoke. Desperate for any form of salvation, Matthew grasped the egg tight in his hands. Closing his eyes, he spoke aloud:
“I wish I could go back to before all this happened!”
“My friend…,”
the voice grew dimmer,
remember, every miracle comes with a consequence…”