I wonder what it's like on the other side. Is it cold? Is it hot? Does it snow? Does it rain? Are there butterflies that ride the wind and birds that sing magically melodies when you become sad? Do you even become sad over there?

What I really want to know is who came up with the idea of three wishes. Why three? Would five be too much to ask for? Would that just make our lifes too easy? Would it make them too long? Or do they keep at three because they are afraid that they'll go crazy? The people I mean, the ones that are running around outside trying to catch the bus at last minute or under the Starbucks awning, trying to avoid the rain that'll wrinkle the perfectly pressed clothing that layers itself on top of the skin of a beige woman. Maybe three wishes are too much already, I watch the news, the attacks, the aliens.

I wonder what Daniel would say? Would he comment how people are just losing it? Or would he pat my shoulder and look me in the eyes and whisper,

"That's why you have to be careful with your wishes. They can drive you insane."

Maybe I'm going insane. Daniel told me that when we come to our last wish we start to lose ourself because we are so close to death and subconsciously we know it. We go insane because though we know are last wish is waiting to be ticked off the sheet and our bodies magic raises to the clouds. That's what he called life, the bodies magic supply.

"When you use your last wish, make sure it's for someone else, because if it's for you, you won't live to enjoy it. It would be stupid to waste a wish." I added that to the list of rules on wishes.

#1 You have to be serious or it won't work.

#2 when you wish you have to use every fiber of your being to make it come true.

#3 Avoid loopholes

Those were the three rules Daniel gave to me off the bat. He was sitting in the hospital bed trying to find a way to move his arm where it wouldn't tug on the wires and tubes. He settled it on top of his chest in defeat after a few gasps and uncomfortable tugs. He had a bandage around the top of his head, which was now bald. His eyes sunk into his head but they weren't as bad as the week before. Though barely, his cheeks had a rosy tint to eyes looked a little less lifeless and more childish. As if he hadn't been in the hospital for the past three months.

"Why did you waste a wish on me?" I had stopped looking at my legs which I was pumping back in forth at such a force that I started to bounce on the plastic blue chair I was placed on. My mother had gone home with our little sister Avery minutes before and I believe the nurse said my father had fallen asleep in his breakfast. It wouldn't be the first time. He had come up to the room so often with food smeared on his face Daniel claimed he did it on purpose. He didn't. I had watched my father fight to keep his eyelids open while cutting his fries. I asked him why he was cutting his fries? He looked at me confused and turned back to his plate. Minutes later his right cheek was soaking in ketchup.

"Because, I wanted to."

"You know you have only two more now."

"It's okay, I don't plan on using them anytime soon."

I felt his eyes burning into my skin and turned into his gaze. He was silent for a moment then opened his mouth but closed it again. He seemed to be searching for the right words to say before he finally found courage to blurt them out. "Don't waste anymore wishes on me."

I nodded my head and sat there in silence. These are some of the memories I remember the most. The silent conversations. The beeping of medical equipment around us. The ticking of a clock. A minute, an hour, a day. It all started to mend together. I looked back up to him in what felt like eternity. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even. I started to swing my legs again but not at the force I had before. I stopped again. I decided it would be best to say even if he couldn't hear me.

"I don't think it was a waste."