Monday, January 3, 2011

Phin the channel fish

Thump!    Phin needn't open either eye for that vibration. He knew all too well it was a shiny hook with a sorry excuse of a fake shrimp, shag, or mullet stuck to it.  After 17 years living in the dark recesses of the channel he'd seen it all come to the bottom.
He also witnessed his kind disappear to the bright heights at the end of those hooks. They were all fooled by the entity at the other end. Sometimes there was a fish on those hooks. A fish yet alive, but snared onto the hook swimming about in lost circles as it descended down. 
Ironic really, using a fish to catch a Phish. 
"A slap in the gills more like!" his grandfather would carp. His grandfather taught him well all those years ago. 
Phin sprang up with a burst  of wiggle and fin to resettle away from the rig. He watched as the impatient entity pulled it back to the bright heights. So impatient they were, the lot of them, thought Phin.
Pomp!   Phin opened one eye with indignation.  Yet another lure presented to the sandy bottom of Phin's world. 
A slap in the gills more like it, indeed.

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