If Wishes Were Fishes

Michael walked along the now dry extended beach that once was the Port of St. Croix. The stench of baking fish and seaweed filled Michael’s nostrils. The walk under the hot sun had put him in a bad mood.  He knew that there was no one else to blame but himself. The argument still hung in his mind as he fought back another bout of nausea as he rounded another capsized fishing boat.

“Come on babe, it’ll be fun!” Sheila’s voice echoed in his head. She wanted to see the old voodoo man selling trinkets.

“Why?” Michael wanted nothing to do with him. He sat in a handmade brightly colored shanty of a hut that sat along the boardwalk from their ship. It was an obvious tourist trap. Still, Sheila was drawn to the man.

“Ooh!” she cooed. “That’s pretty.”

“Here we go,” Michael rolled his eyes. The bauble was pretty enough to attract the wives in to the honey pot, but Michael really didn’t want to shell out any cash for the pendent. Cracked lips parted to reveal crooked and yellow teeth as the old man smiled up at Michael.

“One wish,” the ancient voice creaked out. “This very special.”

“Bull!”

“Michael!” Sheila slapped his arm in annoyance. “Don’t be rude.” Michael started to pull away from his wife only to be stuck fast. “Apologize.”

“No!” the old man still had the crazy smile on his dark skin. Michael caught Sheila’s stare and knew exactly what kind of grief he was going to be in later. “Fine, I apologize. How much?”

“Three hundred.” Michael frowned, paid the man, and grabbed the pendent.

“I wish that you, this old man, the ocean, the pendent, and just about everything else were all gone!” Michael kicked at baked starfish. “Stupid damn wish.”