The MVC Literary Journal

Libation

And now, for my sins, I will mutilate, and offer blood. Deceived into believing that hunger can be satisfied. Deceived into believing that metal is food. Deceived into believing that flashes of silver and flashes of gold and flashes of brilliant colors are flashes of smaller prey. Yes, you have been fooled. You have been fooled, little fish.

You bite; I yank and snap the blade through your jaw—ripping flesh and crushing delicate bone. You writhe and pull back at first. You panic and try to swim deep, to swim away-into the reeds, the shallows, the bushes, the rocks. You fight, desperately. I sit, comfortably yet exhilarated with this game this event this bloodletting!

Fight me—I scream—fight me little fish—how I enjoy your struggle. You tug, you run—I drag and reel. How I enjoy this battle between giant and beast.

Slowly yet surely you tire, you give in, you come to me. I pull your exhausted body from your watery home. I hold you in my palm. I see your eye—looking at me—black and lucent. I see your gills beating with fear and pleading for life. I look into your mouth. My lure—in your tongue, your cheek, your jaw—metal and flesh fused together. I look at your body—all colors come to life in the air, the sun. How beautiful you are. How wondrous creation is. How powerful I have become.

Shall I return life to you? What? What little fish? I asked you a question. Shall I return life to you? Shall I grant you the chance to live again? What will you do differently? Will you live a new life? Will you repent from your sins? Will you find God? Will you treat your wife and kids better? How will you change if you go back there? How will you?

He looks at me. His eye, black and lucent. He pleads for his life. I know he will change. I know he will live better. I grab my lure; I twist and pull and twist and yank—tearing tongue and muscle and bone and flesh—until the little fish is free from metal.

His mouth bleeds. His blood is on my fingers. I am thankful. He is thankful. I say goodbye. I dip him into his watery home. Massage his muscles. He begins to breathe. He begins to move, gently at first, then, suddenly, he breaks away. He darts into the depths—to change his life—to start over—to treat his wife and kids better.

I sit; I look around—at the water, the mountains, the trees, the birds soaring above, the sun raining down upon me. I take a breath and reflect upon the little fish and my life. I check my lure—it is ready. I cast again.

–Laramie Holtzclaw (Copyright 2006)

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres