A story about... A Wish c. 1999/2000 Mark Frey, Tymme Laun, Christine Schwab, and Sally Treanor	TYMME	MARK	CHRISTINE & SALLY
				SALLY & CHRISTINE
			CHRISTINE	MARK & SALLY
			SALLY	MARK & CHRISTINE
				CHRISTINE & MARK

On the dresser the little wish found an open diary, apparently the innermost heartfelt confessions of the aforementioned Helfa. He began to read the page at which the book had fallen open (okay, it's bad form to read people's diaries when they're alive, but once they're dead it's literature). What he read surprised him more and more . . . he flipped to the next page, and it was blank. This must have been the last entry Helfa made before the ship sank. She told of her life in land-locked Oklahoma, and how she had dreamed for years of visiting the sea. This cruise had fulfilled all her wishes. But oddest of all, the last sentence on the page was this: "I don't think I could ever be happier than I am now; if I died tonight, and the little sea creatures fed on my remains, my every wish would be granted." So the little wish, wiping a tear from his eye, swam across the room to oblige her.

As the little wish nibbled on her translucent flesh, strange sensations pervaded his little body. The ends of his fins began to tingle and separate. His tail started to elongate and divide into two sections, each swelling and becoming jointed. He felt long golden tendrils extruding from his head while his face was flattening and widening. Nostrils appeared where his gills had been. He began to struggle as water flowed through these new orifices into lungs that had ceased to be able to function in a watery realm. "Oh, no!" were his last thoughts. "You are what you eat."