The 41st Fire: A Tale of Fish

A short story this week, I needed to focus on other things presently. The Friday Tales will always continue, but sometimes a quick take is better than a tall tale, and this week examines life and its ever-present fragility. Thanks for reading, I’ll see you again next Friday.

Free Dinner

Floating along, the giant fish caught sight of a blur moving in the water. The ripples and waves told the fish which direction and how big this object was. It was fine for prey.

The fish sped towards the object, mouth agape to swallow it whole, letting its strong stomach work it into digestible size. It was an easy enough fit, but it had a long leg, antenna? Unconcerned, the fish swallowed and felt the stinging pierce of a barb through its right cheek.

It panicked. Yanking away only embedded the hook, the taut-line pulling the fish in a direction it did not want to go. It fought the whole way, until it felt the suffocating air outside of the water, it’s gills desperately trying to filter for oxygen.

It felt its numb jaw being yanked back and forth, the hook was ripped back out of the fish’s mouth. The fish thought it must be over, that his slowly fading sight, his overwhelmed sense of smell, and hyperventilating gills would all be the final signs of life he would give out.

Then the knife pierced.

The fish thought all sense of feeling had left until the blade cut from across the neck down to his stomach. The pain was smashing his brain into a neurotic, panicked state of last living thought.

The organs ripped out, the head left on the body, frozen in horrified terror, used for the meat it carried, the nutrition it used to sustain itself at one time.

A flash and then an endless swim in a golden pond, the waters warm and pleasant, the waves constant and gentle.

A moment of aquatic bliss, the fish's forever.