Wish Fountain

On a foggy morning, you discover a glowing fountain in the park that wasn't there yesterday. A stone plaque reads: Three wishes granted, three prices paid. What do you wish for?

You live on Maple Street, three blocks from Willow Park, and you cut through the park almost every day on your way to school. You are the kind of kid who notices things other people miss — a hawk circling above the baseball diamond, a weird mushroom growing behind the swings, the way the oak stump in the middle of the field looks like a sleeping bear if you squint.

'Maya would love this fog,' you murmur to yourself, pulling your jacket tighter. Your best friend has been home sick for weeks, and your little brother Sam has been scared of the dark ever since your family moved to the new house. 'Life has been heavy lately,' you think. 'Like the whole year is wearing boots made of mud.'

This foggy Saturday morning, you are taking your usual shortcut through the park when you freeze mid-step. 'Wait,' you whisper. 'That cannot be right.' Where the old oak stump used to be, something impossible is glowing softly through the mist.