I’ve been told that when you turn 100, The King of the World grants you a wish.
Every day, I imagined what he’d look like. He grew more magnificent each day, silken robes and a golden crown with shining gems.
Until, one day, he was there. At my hundredth birthday.
“Make a wish,” he said.
“To be young,” I replied.
He laughed. “You imagined me all your life. As youth is imagination, so then you are young.”
I blew out the candles on my cake, watching the smoke twist and curl into flying dragons and magnificent castles in the clouds.”