A Fishy Tale (Get it? You see what I did there?)
In a world where the seas were angry, seven brave souls set out in defiance of that aquatic anger. Our goals for that day were two fold, to escape the murderous rioting mobs roaming the crowded battlefields some know as shopping malls, and more importantly to claim the seas as our own by capturing it’s beasts for our own consumption. Not only did we succeed, we succeeded in high fashion. Even the smallest among us, my sister, handily speared the bait fish skull and outwitted a fish to his detriment just moments after we arrived at our first location. At the conclusion of the epic battle between grad student and lane snapper, her mark, a single slash through the head, was made on the fish. Her thirst for fish carnage awakened, she dove back into battle. One by one each of the seven showed their worth on the battleship. The port side of the ship echoed for hours with victory cries. From the galley, sodas ran free; on the deck, fish blood ran equally as free.
Both my brother and my sister, found some of their captures to be too weak to disgrace our table. Those fish were slaughtered and thrown back to drive fear into the cold blooded hearts of our enemies. Still other captured fish we deemed to excel too much in our game of cat and mouse. Having gained our respect, we released them back into the world to go on their way so that we may meet and fight again. One such sea monster was brought aboard by our captain, Peter of Brookeville, son of Charles. His prisoner of war had to have been yay big, no, it was certainly larger by far than that. Why it must have been 25 pounds if it was 1!
Some of our starboard compatriots also had quite the day in battle. Some of their spoils of war included sea bass, snapper, grouper, triggerfish, barracuda, shark, and stingray. As for us, in the end we found 3 fish worthy enough to grace our table, all lane snapper, caught by my sister, brother, and his fiance.
As the day died out, we traveled home. Our hands covered in scales and the blood of fish; our minds and stomachs thinking of the feast that was to come. As we sailed into the harbor, my wife stood on the shore, waving us home. Happiness. This day we fought, this day we won. This Friday was only black for those who live beneath the seas.
PS: Sarah, that is the way you tell fishing stories.