Pokemon: A Fisherman's Tale

On the eighth day of surviving on the desert island, a light rain fell.

The previous night, the sky had been filled with continuous thunder and howling winds. The relentless thunder had terrified Ryan so much that he didn't dare to open his eyes. He kept them tightly shut, repeating to himself, "You can't see me, you can't see me..."

He couldn't sleep through the thunder, waking up several times throughout the night—sometimes from noise, sometimes from hunger, and sometimes from the cold. Each time he dozed off again, he leaned back against a tree trunk for support.

Last night, he had a dream, but this time it wasn't a nightmare; it was sweet.

In his dream, he had a piece of pork belly that could grow endlessly, so no matter how much he ate, it would regenerate. He could slice off a portion and fry it, then the missing part would grow back. Just as he was about to savor the delicious pork, he woke up.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, he was furious, cursing to himself. But hearing the thunder outside, he quickly shut up, wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, and dared not speak again.

By morning, the dark clouds had thinned considerably, and the sky no longer looked as ominous as it had before, as though endless rain was on the horizon.

"Wait, why can I see the sky?" Ryan thought, confused. Hadn't he been under the tree? How was he able to see the sky directly?

Realizing something was off, he quickly looked back and saw the tree trunk he'd been sleeping against. He sighed in relief. The tree trunk was still there; he hadn't been blown away by the storm.

But as he looked up, he was stunned by what he saw. His voice trembled as he muttered, "Oh, crap... the tree... the tree... it's broken."

It finally made sense to him. The light rain falling under the tree was no different than outside because the giant tree he'd relied on for shelter had snapped.

This tree, which was so big it took two people to encircle, had broken. Two-thirds of its trunk had collapsed, with the crown of the tree now touching the sea.

The tree, which had once protected him from the wind and rain, had fallen. What exactly had happened last night?

Standing there frozen, Ryan was overcome with shock and dread. If he'd been sleeping on the side of the tree facing the sea, he could've been crushed.

He was both lucky and scared. Lucky that the strong winds last night had come from the sea, not from the jungle.

If the wind had blown from the jungle, he might have chosen the wrong side for shelter and ended up crushed under the fallen tree.

It seemed the giant tree, buffeted by the storm, had tried to sway back and forth but ultimately couldn't stay standing.

"Cough... cough…" Ryan was suddenly overwhelmed by a fit of coughing. He felt an itch deep in his throat but had no medicine to soothe it. Worse still, his forehead was burning.

He was running a fever.

Stranded on this deserted island without medicine or the knowledge to identify any useful herbs, he was in a dire situation. Eating random herbs could make things worse and bring a quicker death.

Without medicine, a worsening cold or fever could be fatal.

Modern society has antibiotics, and colds and fevers are minor illnesses. But in ancient times or on a deserted island, they could be deadly.

Still, Ryan wasn't entirely helpless. He knew a few methods to reduce a fever. While he still had his senses, he needed to make a fire and boil water. As long as he had those two things, he felt confident he could survive this cold.

Under the light rain, Ryan trudged to the beach and collapsed onto the sand, completely drained. Kneeling there, he stared blankly at his ruined shelter. Everything was gone.

All of his dry firewood, which he had carefully wrapped in plastic, along with his daily supplies and his buried lighter, had been crushed by the fallen tree.

It felt like the world was mocking him. After everything he had gone through, the elements still seemed intent on making him suffer. His carefully protected supplies were gone, buried under the weight of the giant tree.

"Destroyed everything... I'm so tired..." he muttered under his breath.

But he wasn't ready to give up. Ryan took out his Poké Ball and called out his trusty companion, Poliwag.

"Poli! Poli!" Poliwag's cry trailed off as it took in the scene of the colossal tree. It stood there, stunned.

"Snap out of it," Ryan said, patting its head. "Help me dig."

Thankfully, Ryan had buried his most important supplies underground, so not everything was lost. If his things had been left on the surface, they might have been completely destroyed.

Poliwag helped him clear away the sand and debris, their teamwork essential for unearthing what remained of his supplies. Ryan knew he had to find his lighter—it was his only hope for making fire and surviving the fever.

After hours of labor, Ryan finally found the lighter, wrapped in rainproof plastic. He was too weak to cheer but held it up in triumph.

The fever was worsening, his body burning up. Without wasting any more time, Ryan boiled water and dampened a rag with cold water, placing it on his forehead to cool down.

Then, exhausted and shivering, he collapsed into a makeshift bed with a life preserver as a pillow. Before drifting off, he instructed Poliwag, "If the fire gets low, add more wood... and keep this rag wet."

Poliwag chirped in response, faithfully following his instructions. Even as Ryan's vision blurred and his fever worsened, he had to trust that his loyal Pokémon would watch over him.

Ryan closed his eyes, slipping into unconsciousness as Poliwag continued to tend the fire and ensure its trainer's survival.