[ 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 .

Once the golden camel disappeared, I knew I was in trouble. I'd been shouldering its weight for the last twenty minutes, staggering through sandy streets with two wooden poles digging troughs in my shoulders. Every once in a while I had glanced back at the man on the other end of the platform we were both carrying, and he'd looked as mystified as I was. 
 
 The song was spontaneous, irresistible. I did n't know I knew the words until they came spilling out of my mouth in a bouncy, upbeat melody that was as catchy as it was mysterious. Why was I singing? Who was Prince Ali? I could dimly see a regal figure clad in cream colored robes seated atop an elephant at the head of the parade, but I could never make out his face. The beat of the song commanded me to move, to march through the city without pause. I did n't bother resisting. 
 
 And then it was all over. The gates to the palace swung shut on the receding figure of the cream-robed man and the golden camel on my platform dissolved into a fine mist. So did the platform on my back, and the large floats that had been propping up some of the more outlandish aspects of the parade. In fact, almost everything from the parade faded away. 
 
 I was standing amidst an evenly spaced grid of well-built men, my co-workers in the golden camel hoisting business. We all wore matching vests over bare chests and loose pantaloons that billowed about our ankles. We even looked generally like one another, right down to the fact that we all sported thick black moustaches. 
 
 About a hundred yards ahead of us was a crowd of vaguely Asian looking men who, until that moment, had been carrying a forest of long poles with bells mounted on them. They were breaking formation, clumping into random groups and talking amongst themselves. There was a strong habit among many of them that led them to stroke their own moustaches in thought, so that at any time ten or more of them were doing it at once. It seemed that some kind of groupthink was still affecting them. 
 
 A crowd of beautiful women clad in brightly colored tops and pants were looking with great alarm at the swarm of peacocks that ran amidst them- these strange birds had not vanished either and were now crowing and battling amongst each other making a terrible racket. 
 
 My mind was spinning. I felt dizzy, felt that the heat of the sun was blistering my forehead where it was covered in sweat. I sat down hard on the sand and covered my face with my hands. The darkness felt slightly better, and I tried to concentrate on the patterns in the sand between my splayed legs. 
 
 A pounding fear that began to seep from my gut into my bloodstream. Who was I? Where was I? 
 
 The only memory I had from longer than a half hour ago was of a great dark cave, a pair of chained wrists, and a glowing blue light. What's a man supposed to do with that? 

