Revelation
Three weeks have passed since I first arrived here. The days pass by swiftly now with my work in the kitchen, and though I was unused to the constant hustle and bustle at the start, I am pleased that I am able to occupy myself in such a productive manner. Cooking itself is a highly rewarding hobby. But I am afraid to say, none of my successes have been anywhere near as spectacular as my failures. You all do seem to have very narrow palates . . .
(As an aside, I am quite vexed that I have not so much as caught a glimpse of a crustacean. The waters around Memento Eden apparently teem with nothing but jellyfish -- Ahh . . . does anyone wish to sample a new recipe? Smoked kurage strips.)
Yet even with my new occupation, I still find plenty of time to muse upon all the strange occurrences that do transpire. You have all noticed, I am sure, that the disappearances occur in large waves. Many will vanish at once. And it seems that soon after, the number of new arrivals increases exponentially. Perhaps . . . If we are truly nothing but playthings to whatever whimsical gods may govern this island . . . They grow tired of the ones who do not meet their expectations. The ones who do not participate in their games. And so, they discard their old toys and bring in new ones. It is a chilling thought.
I do not find any point in hiding my speculation. If they are powerful enough to so completely change the very core of our beings, they are certainly powerful enough to know our every thought.
I have a request. Does anybody remember the last time a person here was actually killed?