The 10 Wishes

• A Cranberry Bog
• Lime Tree
• Wheat field
• Vodka Distillery
• Wok
• Grappling hook
• An original Game Boy
• Tetris
• Package of AA Batteries
• Hatchet

The first few months were none to kind on me -- I know now I should have gone for a weapon with greater range. The grappling hook helped out for a few weeks allowing me to escape some grim situations with the bear riding shark, which I’ve come to name Ralph. After a few weeks the damn hook broke down from overuse; I forgot to wish for some lubrication oil (and come to think of it, I could have dealt with two birds on that wish). To be fair, I had hoped to make some natural grease once I caught Ralph. I actually killed the damn thing five weeks in by using his harpoon. But there is some force on this island I still have no idea how it works.

The night I killed Ralph I went to fetch some wood for a fire and a sharpened stone to skin the pelt. Yet upon my return to camp I noticed both corpses vanished. The only sign of them were a few marks in the dirt, like the two had gotten up and shuffled into the forest. That should have been my first hint of the things to come.

Nothing much happened in the months to follow. I had perfected the skill of distilling wheat vodka by the fourth month and I managed to harvest a plentiful bounty of cranberries and limes. I eventually got to make a few Cape Codders that nipped the sinking feeling in my heart for home. Even my Game Boy served me well enough on a handful of batteries and thankfully Tetris never gets old.

It wasn’t until the ninth month that things started getting weird. It started after I took up surfing. I made a board using the hatchet I wished for, the best multi tool one can wish for. On some days I leave the board by the sea in my choice spot when on one day I notice a large bite out of as if some shark had viscously attacked it. This didn’t happen to me in the water -- I had left the board on land.

By month ten I was seeing things. A lumbering shadow follows me now. It growls a low bellow almost like a moan. I fear leaving my camp at night. Instead I huddle around the fire for protection, never sleeping for long. I even witness a large diseased fin sticking out of my cranberry bog from time to time. I don't harvest anymore.

It knows I’m here, I have seen patches of fur next to my camp fire when I go out for the day. It’s been one year now, I fear there is no escape. It can climb and it can swim. It never sleeps and I can’t stay up forever.

I'd rather be insane from playing too much Tetris. Watching bricks fall that I know are not there is better than having to face Zombie Ralph...