Guilt
when the fish swallows the hook, the night falls, dragging purple down into the belly of the sea. to the little red cooler on the dock comes the blue gill — sore stomach heaving, spine twisted in his body, body molded furiously to the cup of my hand. I touch the scaling under his rolling eyes, press the pad of my thumb against his bulbous jelly lips, hold him — heaving chest and the sweaty slope of his jaw, the shuddering, guts spilling out white throat, hook snarled up into matted organ mass — and wind the line around my hand,
and yank.
Photo Credit: JW
I like how they used a lot of description words and how the story got to it made a story as better then one of the longer ones