By Goldie Peacock
The first time someone reels you in, cradles you, then throws you back will fuck you up. The second time’ll fuck you up more—you’ll start to think it’s something about you. But the first time, oh that first time. There you are, minding your business swimming, when you see a shiny lure. You were fine with your little fishy life but love the lure and bite and they reel you out of your element, into their orbit, treat you like a prize. Happy to be theirs, you try to learn to breathe like them. As you gasp, they put you on a bicycle you can’t ride because your fins can’t reach the pedals plus don’t work like that, but again, you try because they want it. They see you can’t and toss you back.
The next time someone catches you, you’ve caught on. Now you look cute on a bicycle and have more practice breathing air, but this one simply tires of you, and back you go.
The last one who catches you applauds your breathing, bicycle riding, by this time exceptional for a fish. You’ve won their affection, and as a reward, they cook you for dinner.
Goldie Peacock writes stories, essays, and poems. Their words appear in HuffPost, Sundog Lit, MIDLVLMAG, and more. Celebrations of Goldie’s creative work include: a Brooklyn Nightlife Award, a Go Magazine Readers’ Choice Award, and nominations for Best of the Net and Best Small Fictions. They live in Brooklyn and on goldiepeacock.com.
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