One wish. That’s all I had left with the genie. I never thought I’d wish for this.

“I wish to be young again,” I spoke, and the genie nodded, then vanished, and I whirled through eighty-four years of life in the blink of an eye: divorce, deaths, the growth of my children, meals, books, movies, regrets, accomplishments. They all showed themselves to me again for a split second as my wish was granted. I closed my eyes under the weight of it all.

When I opened them again, I felt different. Not myself. I hadn’t been specific enough; I had wanted to be my younger self again to live my life once more, enjoy it more, feel it more …

But I had become the man I hated most.