The Fish

I loved everything about the coast. The beach, the ocean breeze, the salted air that I’d gotten so accustomed to that when I went inland the air smelled bland. And I loved the water. The furious rumble of white foaming crests that blew spray into my hair and sprang tears from my eyes.

I used to love the beach, the sand whipping up against my legs, stinging, burning, with a fierce appetite for survival I admired. The early mornings were the best, when the sun hadn’t yet crept through the fearsome tangle of brush to light up the beach, when no one was at the beach except the sand, myself, my dog, and the sea.

A lone lighthouse stood far offshore, glimmering feebly into the oncoming dawn. I sat there as the darkness flowed slowly into a dusky light. Often, I would hear engines starting and people talking. My dog would leap up to converse with the neighborhood dogs, and the moment would vanish.

So it was that I was sitting in such a fashion when I saw the fish.

I don’t know how it got there, and by the looks of it, neither did it. It sort of flipped half-heartedly as I walked up to it to get a closer look. What the hell was a fish doing in the middle of the beach?

Alright, to be fair it wasn’t the middle. There was an outside chance it might have somehow gotten beached, but what fish (silly as they are) would wander so close to shore so as to wash up on the beach?

Dusting my incredulous questions aside, I did the poor thing mercy and took it back to the water before it died (or worse, my dog found it). Little did I know it would be the last time I’d feel mercy for a fish.

Well, the next day I went again, as was my routine. I sat for about an hour or so, and as dawn neared, I heard it. An odd splashing sound. There it was again. My dog’s ears perked at the sound, and his tail began thumping softly against the sand, raising little puffs of dust. I knew enough about dogs — and I knew him well enough — to investigate before he did.

There it was. The fish. Looking straight at me with those same dead eyes. Still very much alive. But that look sent chills through my body. This time I marched it down to the beach and threw it out as far as I could. It disappeared with a faint splash, and I hoped that would be the end of it.

Not only did it not end there, the fish even made it into my dreams! At that point they were more nightmares — or nightfish — since they aren’t horses. It just looked at me with blank eyes and puckered lips, and wouldn’t go away. All night long I’d stare at the ceiling of my bedroom, struggling to prevent the head of the fish from appearing in my mind’s eye.

Only once more did I venture to the beach, fully expecting to find what I found. I felt no mercy now as I picked up the fish and whistled for my dog.

Breakfast.