Wish Granted

He looked down at his wrists, which until a moment ago, had been shackled securely.
The impression of manacles was still evident on his flesh; flesh he hadn't seen in decades.
Air unlike any he'd ever inhaled filled his lungs.
It was the air of freedom.
Tarnished and forgotten was the brass prison which had once been his unwanted shelter; it lay on the ground awaiting his return, never to be requited.
Should he laugh, or cry?
This wasn't the escape he'd intended.
Though the wish had not been uttered by his master, the Genie was freed from his lamp.