Could you help me write my fairy tale?

Question:I am trying to write a quick little fairy tale.
All I need is a story in which someone wishes very hard for an object to materialize, and then suddenly, maybe because some fairy makes it possible, "blipp!", there it is.

Do any of you feel inspired?
I'd be eternally grateful.
It's for a lecture, I want to open it humorously.


In the deepest darkest wood not far from here, the smallest most frightened child is searching, desperately searching, for a way back home. As the clouds begin to darken and the night starts to draw a thick black blanket around the woods, the child starts to shiver with fear. A branch snaps, a haunting cry in the distance. A strange unearthly screech. The child tries to breathe, concentrates every effort on getting breath into her screaming lungs.

Distinct noise. Footsteps, moving closer, ever closer. The child freezes to the spot, unable to move, unable to scream. Trapped in darkness. Trapped in the woods, alone. Frightened and alone. The child can hear heavy laboured breaths, somewhere from deep inside she finds courage. She runs, runs like the wind, smashing through the darkness, branches, roots, stretching out hungry limbs to catch her. She runs, just runs, can not find her way home. Panic begins to seize her. The child freezes. She can hear the slow steady footsteps following behind her. She dare not turn around. She dare not look. The child sees the old gnarled oak tree, she knows her way. She can find her way home. Her pace steadies, her body glides into an effortless sprint. Limbs and breathing urging her ever onwards. Chanting, nearly home, nearly home, nearly home.

The child is asleep in her bed, she wakens, she has cramp in her leg. She examines her hand, her skin is crepey, dry and wrinkled. She moves her legs, slowly to prevent the arthritis pain. She shuffles to the bedroom window, always disappointed, always saddened. She scans the horizon, sees only the new housing estate, concrete, cars belching black smoke into the early morning sky. She sees, neighbours arguing, dead brown patches of uniform grass.

A tear slides down the child's face as she remembers and longs for the deepest darkest wood not far from here, where the smallest most frightened child is searching, desperately searching, for a way back home to the woods of her childhood.
If I write wont consider your fairy tale. Rite?
omg.i am not lieing their are real fairys in my backyard i am not joking..

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