The purpose of my creation.
Posted: Sat Jan 14, 2012 8:08 pm
I took a creative writing class today and here is a 250 word story I wrote for it.
Though my hunger has faded as my stomach is compressed by my ever ripening I can not resist the bite size morsel slowly moving by with just the right combination of wiggle and purple to compel me to eat. A quick flick of my tail, a last adjustment of my fins, and the morsel is in me.
My mouth closes and I savor the anticipated crunch of the exoskeleton and sweet shrimpy flavor of the zooplanktor. But,there is no sweet crunch and flood of flavor. There is a hard cold taste of steel and then a driving prick of pain as the creature pierces my jaw and jerks my body to align with the direction it is traveling. I recoil with all the force in my body to free myself from the impossible power of this thing towing me away from my path toward the nirvana of spawning relief.
Instead, my body is inexorably pulled through the surface, into the air, and onto a deck. I flop frantically trying to free myself and return to my journey, my spawn exploding from me, running out on the deck as the water pressure holding me together is lost.
The blade slicing through my gills feels more like relief than death as I suffocate. My dying eyes take in the fisherman, my maker, my killer, as he removes his hook from my jaw. I can not comprehend that this end was the reason for my creation.
Though my hunger has faded as my stomach is compressed by my ever ripening I can not resist the bite size morsel slowly moving by with just the right combination of wiggle and purple to compel me to eat. A quick flick of my tail, a last adjustment of my fins, and the morsel is in me.
My mouth closes and I savor the anticipated crunch of the exoskeleton and sweet shrimpy flavor of the zooplanktor. But,there is no sweet crunch and flood of flavor. There is a hard cold taste of steel and then a driving prick of pain as the creature pierces my jaw and jerks my body to align with the direction it is traveling. I recoil with all the force in my body to free myself from the impossible power of this thing towing me away from my path toward the nirvana of spawning relief.
Instead, my body is inexorably pulled through the surface, into the air, and onto a deck. I flop frantically trying to free myself and return to my journey, my spawn exploding from me, running out on the deck as the water pressure holding me together is lost.
The blade slicing through my gills feels more like relief than death as I suffocate. My dying eyes take in the fisherman, my maker, my killer, as he removes his hook from my jaw. I can not comprehend that this end was the reason for my creation.