Spin the Bottle (To Be Deleted)

*3 ~ First Impressions*

|JAMIE|

I need to stop watching so many Disney movies because this black bottle with the glowing golden leaves design is giving me major Aladdin vibes. This dream is so vivid, not to mention I'm aware I'm dreaming. Does that mean I can control it? Or do I just sit tight and enjoy the ride?

The bottle itself is pretty light, so maybe it's not made of clay. The painted color scheme is nice and the art on it is intricate and pretty. Is it empty?

I rattle the bottle like it's filled with shake and pour pancake batter.

"Ow! Don't! Don't shake the bottle! Please!"

Startled, I fumble and drop the lamp onto the purple comforter of my bed.

I don't respond to the voice, despite the urge I have to speak back. The voice belongs to a guy. He sounds young like he could be a teenager, yet the accent makes him sound older by default. I'm guessing this guy is a genie. It's been a while since my brain has tripped this hard while unconscious.

"I can hear your loud breathing, so at least I know you're alive."

Just great! The dream genie has an attitude. What most people don't know about me is that I can have an attitude, as well. I can be just as sarcastic or insulting as anyone else. The only problem is that I prefer to just let people run their mouths until they get bored of my unresponsiveness. I learned that technique the hard way. Chris says I'm too emotional and that I need to 'put my little brain to work.' Then again, Chris is failing two classes, so he can talk to me about brain sizes when he reaches my GPA -- as I told him.

"Hello? Are you there? Jamie?"

Despite how fun this should be, I'm having a hard time getting myself mentally invested in this dream. It just feels so real.

Too real.

I finally speak up, "This is probably the most realistic dream I've ever had, and strangely enough, not nearly as weird as I'm used to."

"You don't say," he replies, each word heavily coated in sarcasm.

"So, you're a genie, right? Do I rub the bottle?"

"Well, someone likes Disney. Yeah, I'm a genie. Now instead of rubbing the bottle, I need you to spin the bottle."

What accent is that? It's not thick, so it's not an easy guess. I've heard it before, but I can't remember. Genie mythology originated in Islamic areas where they are known as Djinn. The dream genie sounds like he comes from over there, so that's my guess.

"Spin? Why not rub?"

"Just... spin the bottle and I can be of assistance to you." I can hear the repressed frustration in his tone. I wonder if me shaking the bottle put him in a bad mood.

I walk over to the mini kitchen area of the bedroom. All brownstone apartments have one in each room. The rooms are divided by a sudden transition from fluffy carpet to smooth tile. I crouch down; ready to spin this bottle-lamp thing.

"Okay, I'm about to do it -- but first, I just want to say sorry for hurting you earlier," I say, making sure my sincerity is heard.

He sighs. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine. The movement was too fast for the gravity in here to catch up. Besides a slight headache and possible bruising, I'll be okay."

"Alright then, get ready." I twist my wrist and watch the bottle-lamp spin until it slows down to a stop. The gold leaves design blurs and the black greatly contrasts the pearly white of the floor.