Fishing

He lives close to the city, right on the edge of the action. He likes it more here, where things are going on, he likes to watch. The others live out deeper, away from all of the people, but it’s become his home here under the marina. It’s an upside down world for a fish, overhead are smooth bulbous forms and a ceiling that he can only peek through. Below him it’s muddy and craggy and changes in a non-uniform way. He doesn’t bother too much with the bottom though, his interest is above.

Near the surface the fish swims along peering at the distorted view of the world outside of the sea. He prefers the still, calm mornings, he can see things more clearly when the surface is so solid and reflective. Occasionally he’ll see something that he takes particular interest in. Breaking the surface briefly his eyes quickly adjust to the light and dryness as he snaps a mental picture that’ll feed his thoughts and imagination for the days to come.

As much as he cherishes these glimpses he tries to keep them to a minimum, they give him away, they let the people know that he’s there, he worries that people will realise he’s watching them. He swims around the edge of the marina, staying close to the path that they walk each morning and night. This particular morning he is overcome by curiosity and breaches for a second time just before the woman he’s following heads back inland. The splash causes her to glance over her shoulder. He can see her searching the water with a squint, these moments cause him great fear. He’s seen what people can do to fish, seen friends hauled up to the other side of the sleek hulls he swims around. But he needs to watch, he needs more information, desperate that one day he’ll figure it out. One day the fish is going to catch himself a person.