A Genie and a Wish

Three thousand and five years ago. A great sultan lived. A man of great renown. A man with a kingdom that stretched from ocean to ocean. His power was unchallenged, his pride equally so.

Despite his great kingdom and magnificent reputation, the great sultan never had time for women. Still being a virgin by his 30th birthday. He never considered this a strange thing, hoping to live till the end of time, leaving ample time for women and other delights.

Unfortunately his pride ultimately led to his downfall. Taxes and military conscription crippled the people. Being away from his kindom, out on conquests and exploration he left his country in the hands of corrupt governors and sly leaders. Despite knowing of their treachery, he appointed them anyway. Seeing the money flowing in like a flood, he felt no shame. He killed easily, simple glances infuriated him, wrong etiquette inflamed his rage. The people tried rebelling, but where murdered where they stood, insurrections where dealt with on the spot. They where tired, angry and downtrodden. Their king was a vile man, and played with their lives like a child with toys.

This all came to a head, when one day, at a reception in his hall, the tall golden doors of the throne room swung open. The light cast from the sun, flowing in through the door silhouetted the figure of an ancient man, bent and twisted, leaning like a palm tree in a storm. The sultan screamed for his guards to grab the man, as if the frail creature could harm anyone.

But the Sultan's men were gripped by a strange fear. They where frozen in place, confused by their unresponsive limbs.

The old man made his way up to the king's throne. The sultan screaming and hissing at his men, swearing to have their heads if they let the man come closer. Alas, no one responded, and the man came ever nearer.

By now, the sultan was fuming, and began grabbing the pillows he was seated upon and throwing them at the man. The decrepit man weathered the onslaught and came to a stop by the steps leading up to the throne.

The sultan was ready to explode, his face red and angry. "How dare you enter my palace, how dare set your filthy feet on my carpets and soil my hall with your sight, I will have you flogged and beaten!!" The sultan grabbed his golden chalice, and took aim.

The old man looked up. It was enough to halt the king.

The sultan dropped his cup. His knees gave in, and he fell to the ground.

"Sultan Amir, Qaa'id of the people of this land, you have done many evil things to your people, you have let them starve, give up their lives, and die in your name, the kings you gave to rule in your stead, have stolen and taken from the good people everything they own."

Sultan Amir felt his throat close up, he could not scream, he could not speak.

"Al Afdal does not sleep Sultan Amir, payment for what you have done to these people is nigh, their cries and shouts are now answered!"

A great wind entered the hall. The pillars of the palace shook and crumbled. The guests, the guards and servants ran, leaving the sultan and the old man. Sultan Amir was gripped with anguish, his palace, his pride and his power was now being stripped from him, brick by brick.

The grand palace of Sultan Amir was no longer. In it's place was dust. Only dust. Not one brick was still in place. At the sight of this, the sultan cried out, but no sound came from his lips.

"You are king no more, you are now the servant you hated, the giver you took from and the **** you abused."

From the rubble, a cloud of dust coalesced into a magnificent golden oil lamp. It set itself gently on the outstretched hand of the old man. "This shall be your home from now on, the remains of your palace and the object of your enslavement."

The Sultan, now simply a man in torn robes, felt his skin become like parchment, his bones like porcelain and his mind become dull. His body was now fluid, air and earth all in one. He became nothing like a human.

"Become a servant of the people, grant them whims like they did you and let your name be forgotten to time, until you are less than a ****!"

The golden lamp pulled the now boneless and shapeless body of the once grand sultan into it.

"This shall be your punishment till the end of days, Djinn of the Lamp, nothing shall be your grace."

And so, the nation fell and the people moved away. Telling no one of their horrid king. His name forgotten and his land undone. Irrelevant and muted, his glory dead.

This was the end.