The Wish by Roald Dahl
The Wish
by Roald Dahl
Under the palm of one hand the child became aware of the scab of an old cut on
his kneecap. He bent forward to examine it closely. A scab was always a
fascinating thing; it presented a special challenge he was never able to resist.
Yes, he thought, I will pick it off, even if it isn’t ready, even if the middle of it
sticks, even if it hurts like anything.
With a fingernail he began to explore cautiously around the edges of the scab. He
got the nail underneath, and when he raised it, but ever so slightly, it suddenly
came off, the whole hard brown scab came off beautifully, leaving an interesting
little circle of smooth red skin.
Nice. Very nice indeed. He rubbed the circle and it didn’t hurt. He picked up the
scab, put it on his thigh, and flipped it with a finger so that it flew away and
landed on the edge of the carpet, the enormous red and black and yellow carpet
that stretched the whole length of the hall from the stairs on which he sat to the
front door in the distance. A tremendous carpet. Bigger than the tennis lawn.
Much bigger than that. He regarded it gravely, setting his eyes upon it with mild
pleasure. He had never really noticed it before, but now, all of a sudden, the
colors seemed to brighten mysteriously and spring out at him in a most dazzling
way.
You see, he told himself, I know how it is.
The red parts of the carpet are red-hot lumps of coal. What I must do is this: I
must walk all the way along it to the front door without touching them. If I touch
the red I will be burnt. As a matter of fact, I will be burnt up completely. And the
black parts of the carpet . . . yes, the black parts are snakes, poisonous snakes,
adders mostly, and cobras, thick like tree trunks round the middle, and if I touch
one of them, I’ll be bitten and I’ll die before tea time. And if I get across safely,