The Plot is Lost

Going with the motion. The dead fish floats where the river flows hoping nature won’t be too hard on her. Looking at the sky from one eye, since I suppose fish float sideways?, a smatter of pink cotton candy clouds made her smile. If fish knows how to, she would I’m sure.

Resistance is futile. Fighting seems pointless. Scared shitless at confrontations, I somehow have gotten a job where I’ll need to assert myself on daily basis and logically manoeuvre (is this English for real?) my words outside any hole I’ve landed myself in. And my reputation is at stake. My company’s reputation is at stake. Hell, sometimes I feel the whole gender and my race is at stake. It’s one thing when a white male screws up. It’s a whole different box when a young Asian female drops the hypothetical ball. Alas, such pressures move mountains. And I am here to move mountain. If only little by little.

Only… meh.

Losing the plot a tiny tad.

The river ebbs and flow and fish ended up in the net. Off to the icebox for three hours and two bites of ham and cheese sandwich later, it’s the smelly market. Only it smells fishy, so I guess fish wouldn’t mind. What an awful smell to die for. But no, fish still have a few inches left in her thread. A. Fish can’t remember when she signed up for Facebook but there’s a backload-heavy momma poking about her face with her fat stubby index. Fish is suddenly filled with dread. Not from her impending doom, no, she can’t stop thinking of all the places the chunky stubby finger had been before the touched her. So fish played dead.

And she would be soon. But not yet.

Momma put her in a bag and asked the smelly old man to pour some water in it. Two hours, a bowl of rice, a half-hearted conversation with the poppa and an even less-hearted make out session later, fish is on the chopping board. Most fish would flap and flip, as fish do. But not her. She stared one sidedly to the ceiling. Thinking of days when she dreamed of the deep dark ocean and strangers called mola-mola, a name so sweet you have to say it twice. Momma’s face blocked her vision through her dreams.

And three things happened after.

Something bright.

Something  fast.

And something dark.


About inifeli

Sketch a lot, write a lot, read a lot. Live a lot.

Well, I'd say....

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