Wendy was, as usual, working on the third draft of her history paper on the Third Crusade. This was the draft in which she footnoted each fact or opinion, having already completed the outline and principal arguments (first draft), detailed arguments, introduction and conclusions (second draft), leaving the fourth draft for word choice and sentence flow. She knew other people, especially her brother, considered her commitment to her work to be overkill, but she could not see the point of doing anything without putting all of her capabilities into it, whether it was a history paper, a debating society competition, teaching her Sunday school class, soccer (in the fall) and tennis (in the spring, shopping, cooking, or her Facebook page. She tried not to be overly judgmental, but she simply could not understand living any other way. Doing half a job seemed to her to be a complete waste of the time it took for the half to be done. Just as wasting half of the family's college tuition money on Mark meant that she, the more talented and harder working of the siblings, could not afford to attend Yale, and instead had to join Mark next year at Local State University Branch.
Thinking about the poor decisions her parents often made (even though she did try always to "honor" them) left her feeling too restless to work, so she hit the timer for her 15 minute break and lay down on the floor to do the day's crunches and push ups. She was up to 125 crunches and 50 push-ups (full push-ups, not the easier variant for girls), and she did each one slowly to get the full effect. Halfway through her routine she heard an odd ping on her desk, but she resisted the temptation to investigate. Whatever it was would wait until she finished.
Finally, when she completed her 50th push-up (note to increase next time to 53), she returned to her desk. Her lamp was still burning, so it wasn't the filament. There were no new email or text messages -- it wasn't her sound, but someone could have changed it, or the phone could have malfunctioned. She was going to check the supports for her bookshelves when she noticed something shiny on her desk, a ring. It was cheap-looking, slightly bent. It must have come through the window, but how? Why would someone throw it at her? She didn't have any secret admirers, she was sure, but also wasn't unpopular enough for people to throw things at her. It piqued her curiosity, but apart from leaning out the window quickly and inspecting the street for possible suspects, there was little she could do immediately. Instead she looked at the ring more carefully. There was nothing special about its appearance. Its color was somewhere between brass and gold, which meant it wasn't valuable, and it wasn't terribly pretty either. She would have cleaned it to inspect it more closely, but she didn't have time for another interruption for two hours. Instead she slipped it on her pinkie, rather than her ring finger, just to remind herself to investigate it later rather than to adopt as her jewellery. What she wanted now was to finish her fourth draft without interruption.
Twenty five minutes later her draft was done. She had not even noticed time passing. Had she daydreamed the whole time? No, her footnotes were even more complete than usual, each one in the correct style, and when she thought about it she recalled each footnote she had added. But she had worked with complete concentration, without having a single distracting thought or even hearing anything going on around her. That was a little frightening.
"Wasn't that what you wanted?" she heard a voice inside ask.
"Not really," she replied, used to having dialogues with herself. "It could have been dangerous. What if there had been a fire? What if my mother had come in?"
"You said you wanted to work without interruption, so there would have been no interruptions."
"That's illogical thinking. Just because I didn't want interruptions doesn't mean there wouldn't be any!"
"That's exactly what it means. Whatever you want will be, so long as you wear me."
Wendy gripped her desk. "You? Who are you? I'm talking to myself?"
"No. You're talking to your ring."
She looked down at the ring. It looked normal, non-descript. She pulled it off. OK, she thought. The voice didn't answer, and she felt different, less focused. She looked at the ring. It sat on her desk, immobile. She picked it up gingerly, holding it around the edges. Nothing. She cautiously slipped it back on her pinkie.
Well?
"I bond with my wearer, but only while I'm worn."
"Oh, so you're a 'wearer instrument'," Wendy punned, using a concept she learned from an investment book she bought, hoping to make money for Yale.
"Exactly."
"And what else do you do, aside from talking in my head and helping me concentrate on my homework?"
"I make whatever you want happen."
Wendy said nothing. She stared at the ring. "That's ... like being God."
"I do not create a state of being. Through me, the wearer exercises a power."
"A godlike power!" The ring was silent. "Don't you think so?"
"I don't think. I am just a ring."
"Well, I think so." The ring was silent. "So, you could give me enough money to go to Yale?"
"Yes."
"Easily?"
"That term has no meaning for me."
"What? It makes no difference whether you put a new penny on my desk or ... or create an entire alternative universe?"
"It makes no difference at all."
"You could transport me across the universe?"
"Anywhere in the universe."
"You could create two identical copies of me?"
"Yes, but only you would wear the ring. I cannot affect my own properties and thus cannot duplicate myself for the copies to wear."
"If you give the wearer so much power, how is it possible that no one knows about you? That you haven't fundamentally altered the universe already?"
"Why do you think no one knows about me? And how do you know that I haven't?"
Wendy's mouth dropped open. She shuddered. "You are ... you make ... this is too much power!" She started to remove it and then stopped. "But if I am not wearing it, someone else will, right?"
"Yes."
"So, before I was wearing it, someone else was."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Mark, your brother."
"Mark!!?? HE had all that POWER??!! He could have helped with getting me the money for ... what did he do with it?"
"He made a stop sign and then a statue of his girlfriend out of a tree, enhanced his running ability and then made himself ten times as powerful as Superman."
"And why isn't he wearing the ring now?"
"He didn't want me to be damaged. Not that I could be."
"10 times as powerful as Superman? Ha! Typical. He has no imagination and never thinks things through. Then you should make me 10 trillion times as powerful as Superman. Um, does that mean anything? Does he even exist?"
"He does now."
"OK, then make me 10 trillion times as powerful as Superman is right now, at 4:30 pm Eastern Daylight Time on August 30, 2011. In case he ever stops existing."
"Well reasoned."
Wendy was momentarily struck dumb. Her senses had expanded beyond any conception, but so had her mind's ability to process the information streaming in to her from all corners of the universe. Her energy and strength seemed infinite, although she knew it wasn't. She stood still, experiencing the full extent of the power she had just gained and then she smiled.
"What do YOU get out of this?"
"I simply do what my wearer wishes."
"And the more powerful the wearer, the more extreme the wishes .... Yes, you are a mischievous ring, aren't you? Or was the mischief in your maker?"
"I am just a ring."
"You or someone or something is enjoying this. It isn't pure chance that the ring has come to me. Someone or something can't wait to see what I do to Mark."
"I am just a ring."
"Ha ha ha. Sure. And I am just a sixteen year old girl, with an older brother who wouldn't even lift a finger to help me!"
"Yes?"
"And you are just a ring."
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