He walked down the empty streets of Evanston. It felt like Sunday morning: quiet, peaceful, serene. The only problem was that it wasn't Sunday morning; it was Thursday afternoon, right at rush hour, and the streets should be filled with cars. There should be people returning home from work, people doing yard work, kids playing in the balmy afternoon sunlight. There should be the sound of cooking, lawnmowers, the rumble of the El - a constant, ongoing simmer of noise from thousands of people doing things underlying everything.
Nothing. Just the sound of the breeze through the trees, dogs barking, birds chirping, some cicadas beginning to sing in the warmth, gearing up to that piercing shriek of thousands of cicadas doing whatever it was they did.
No people.
His first wish had been for riches. The genie had sniffed, muttered, "So cliche!", and then snapped his fingers. He'd rushed to pull out his phone, pull up his account at the bank. There it had been: an account balance of millions.
His second wish...oh, lord, he couldn't remember. How could he not remember?! Looks? Love? Whatever. It had convinced him.
So for his third wish, he had gone for something big, something outside himself. It seemed perfect, right? Wish for world peace.
The genie had frowned. Had told him it was a bad idea. He had insisted. The genie had actually argued with him! He still insisted. So the genie had sighed, frowned, shook his head, then sorrowfully snapped his fingers.
And here he was. It was quiet. And peaceful. So damned peaceful. And, so far as he could tell, there were no people left in the world now, except for himself.