I wrote a story for a Decameron-inspired project at the beginning of the Coronavirus quarantine.
If you are interested in writing with this prompt reach out to Natasha, who rules and is coordinating the whole project.
You can find contact information and the rest of the stories here.
Image by the amazing Yusei Nagashima. His textures and colors are so vibrant. He breathes life into traditional scientific paintings and etchings.
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Big Fish, Or Some Such Nonsense
“When we were young we heard of an old-timer who hadn’t spawned; he was gnarled, huge, and strange. ‘Too much time alone,’ they said. Maybe that was where he developed exotic tastes. Some of the older fish claimed to have seen him eating mice. I say that’s just big fish talk.
Last week the mayflies and stoneflies were hatching, singing their short song of existence: buzzing, flitting, fucking, and dying. I was gorging myself, ready to shed my minnowish figure when I felt a ring of light, and I flexed in the warmth of the scattered beams against the chill of the depths.
I saw a gossamer thread, burning as bright as the sun piercing the surface. I followed it with my eye into the gloom. There was something coming out of the depths. It was the big fish, as mean looking as I could have imagined. He was more teeth than fish. I froze, terrified.
He rose steadily, until we were almost level, all the time following the thread of light. He muttered:
‘Like what you see?’
‘Hello,’ I said. Unsure of what to say I timidly asked, ‘What’s at the other end of the light?’
‘I’m on my way to meet someone.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The end of loneliness.’
Today I followed the line, compelled despite my fear. What’s loneliness?” thought the fish as he lay gasping, alone, dying on the bank.
The man, having melted lard in his skillet took to the quick work of filleting, discarding the guts for the birds and dredging the pieces in the cornmeal. Smoke from the fire burned his nostrils and made his eyes sting as the wind blew his direction.
