[ WP ] To impress Jasmine , Aladdin wished himself to become a prince . You are one of the attendants that got wished into existence , but after Aladdin 's parade you start to have an existential crysis .

It was like double-vision, except it was the past. How can something fictional seem so vivid...? The distant, exotic land we came from, its gilded avenues, its glistening intricate spires, its profound natural beauty with lushly verdant banks hugging the rivers that snaked between the dunes... None of it was there. It was all nothing more than a dream. But I am not a lie. I stare at my hands, flexing them, examining the callouses accumulated by work never done, cracks formed of age never lived, and despite the warmth of the bright sun just passing its zenith above, I shiver. 
 
 `` Amir,'' I hear a voice call, and my heart tugs at what I know to be familiarity. 
 
 `` Hassan...?'' I uncertainly reply as I look up. Our gazes meet. I could swear I saw in his eyes the same false memories flashing behind mine. Childhood among parents who never lived, in a community that was never built, attending an academy that was never founded, graduating from a ceremony never held... He nods hollowly, as if to confirm these very musings. 
 
 ``... We have to pack the supplies, Amir. His Majesty will be staying at the palace, and the staff are directing us to where we are to stow his wardrobe and leave his tributes to The Sultan.'' 
 
 My mouth was dry, but not in response to his words. At some point I realized my'old friend' Hassan was talking only to fill the screaming void in our minds. To'Sound Normal', like'Real People'. My stomach is a knot of ice. Still, the skills of a life as-yet unlived surface readily to the forefront of my mind. How to port the many caskets of His Majesty Prince Ali's wares. ``... Yes. I will coordinate with the provisioner. If my memory serves,'' I pause a bit too long, lost in the jarring disjunction of citing false memories, ``... it is customary to serve a great feast with the arrival of a dignitary. The many delicacies of our homeland are sure to leave a resounding impression upon The Sultan's court.'' 
 
 Hassan's expression tightens. I feel his heartache, for this homeland which we have never seen with real eyes, and never shall. He hesitantly takes a step nearer and dispenses a conciliatory pat to my shoulder. A mutual understanding. We were truly all feeling it, every last member of His Majesty Prince Ali's vanguard. 
 
... he was n't even really a prince. 
 
 I shudder and turn, to address the court provisioner by name. He's just as haunted and startled as I that we know one another, but everything is running smoothly. We have no solace from our inner thoughts. We can only push on in the hopes that the minutia will wash away the horror.
