Juliet slammed the door, as she walked out.
It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she do like other girls? Why were her parents so narrow-minded? She understood curfew; somehow. She hadn’t even fought about it. She was 16 years old and she knew that being outside past a certain time wasn’t safe. She got that. But throwing all her make-up in the garbage? She’d saved all her allowance for 3 months to be able to afford her own.
Juliet kicked one of the stones on the path.
Why was her mother such a bigot? It wasn’t as if she was reading porn or something. Not like her brother who hid Playboy magazines under his bed. He didn’t get in trouble. But she did. Because she had to read The Scarlet Letter for school. Her mother had actually burnt the book. She burnt it! And now she would have to buy it again and let one of her friends keep it for her, or leave it in her locker. Kind of useless when one had to read the book and prepare essays and stuff.
Juliet plopped herself on the beach.
That was when she saw it; a bottle drowning in the whirlwind that the waves created around it. She felt oddly like it for a moment: she had to let the tide bring her this way or that. Sometimes she ended up on the shores, sometimes far away at sea. She felt like she didn’t belong anywhere: her parents’ beliefs made it difficult for her to fit in at school, but she didn’t feel like she fit in at home either.
Juliet grabbed the bottle.
Who knew? Maybe there was a message in there. A message from someone who, like her, felt like sending a SOS. Maybe she would feel better. Maybe someone was feeling worse than her. That was a bit mean right? Petty? But it wasn’t as if anyone but Juliet would know that she’d hoped someone was in more trouble than she.
Juliet wrenched the cork free.
And screamed, as smoke surrounded her. Not smoke: fumes. She coughed; it smelled like liquor. It was thick and heavy. And there was something, no someone coming out of the bottle. A giant man leaned on her; shit he was heavy. But he seemed… almost made of smoke. What the hell!?
“Your wish is my command.”
The man slurred, blowing some pretty heavily alcoholic breath in her face. He was a genie?
Juliet brought her sleeve to her nose.
Of course. That was her luck: she just found a wasted genie. Not a decent, normal one. If such a thing existed. Right. No! She had to find the lamest, most pathetic genies of them all. But she did have wishes… Like having better parents. Well like…
“Ok, so I wish my parents were like… more open-minded.”
“Open-m…?” the genie slurred.
“You know, that they have an open mind.”
“Shure. Yeah. I do that. Parents with open mind.”
Juliet ran home, the bottle in her hand.
Who cared if the genie couldn’t really follow? He slugged behind her. She arrived by the house only to hear her sister and brother scream at the top of their lungs. They both ran out of the house, like the Devil was in there or something.
“What’s going on?”
“Mom, she’s… Oh my God it’s horrible!”
Juliet entered and screamed.
In front of her stood her mother. And where her forehead was supposed to be, there was… like a window. Yes, it was like a window that opened on her brain. And every thought seemed to be visible. Like now, she was thinking of making an apple pie for dinner. An open mind? Stupid fucking genie!
How the hell was she supposed to fix that?
In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver prompt #84