| Short Story |
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Barracuda
By Constance Lang
I've been going fishing since I turned sixteen. I awake very early, pack up
my tackle box and make myself breakfast to take along, just in case it turns
out to be a really long day. Sometimes, I end up traveling miles from home
just looking for the right location. I haven't really found the best fishing
spot yet and I figure that's why I haven't caught * the big one * to brag
about. There have been a few fish that have come close, don't get me
wrong, but still, they weren't anything to write home about.
Mom said the best way to catch one of the really good ones is to start
young when you have a lot of energy. She gave me other tips as well like;
make sure you have the right lure for the catch, and timing is everything.
She also warned against making too much noise while trolling. I’ve taken
all of her suggestions to heart and I think I’m close to perfecting my fishing
skills.
My only problem is, for the whole time I've been fishing, I've come up with
non-keepers. It takes a lot to get rid of the ones I can't keep too. It's not
like the old catch and release days (although, I must admit I have mounted
a few). And, disposing of the carcass - what a pain! It makes me glad that
I work out every day. If I didn't, I don't think I'd be able to lift all that dead
weight. Of course, I cut them into sections before disposing of them, but it
still takes muscle and concentration!
Like the last one - whew! He was a bullhead! Hooking him was the easy
part - it always is. It was the release that was tough. He just didn't want to
let go. I tried explaining to him that he just wasn't a good catch but he
wouldn't listen, just kept fighting like he didn't even hear me. Finally, I had
to put him out of my misery. He was a big one too, almost 200 pounds. He
didn't have anything worth mounting. So I cut him up (I kept the choice cuts
for dinner later of course), and buried him along sections of Route 9. I was
careful though; I picked nice secluded spots in the woods for the pieces
and always several miles a part, just like mom taught me.
Before my latest fishing trip, I had a long talk with mother and she
reminisced of how it was in the past with my first father before her own big
catch. I sat and listened. I know how she enjoys telling her fishy tale. She
remembered how father, she and I would go to the cabin (our current
home) on our yearly vacation. Father was an avid fisherman and taught us
all about catching the * big one *. He taught me about fly- fishing, fishing
on the big lakes (what he called the ponds) and even how to tie knots just
like the squids do.
She spoke of how father loved to play catch and release with her and
how he eventually thought of me as the one that kept getting away. It was
when he tried to put his hook into me that she decided he was worth more
stuffed and mounted on a mantle.
Anyway, mom said that maybe my questions were just too tough. Fish
have very small brains and can't think well. So, I revised some of my
questions and got rid of some. But truth be told, I don't think I'd want to
keep a fish if he couldn't even answer a basic question like 'what is your
future mother-in-law's name'. They always get the love question right, so I
figured I'd better keep that one. And, I've narrowed my questions down to
three, to keep it short and simple, just like mom suggested. So, tonight, I'm
hoping to find me a keeper!
My alarm went off at 12:10 AM and even though I was already awake in
anticipation of the day's catch, I waited until it did go off before getting out
of bed. I packed a small breakfast and added a couple of snacks, but I
didn't think I'd need them. I had a good feeling about tonight.
Mom always says, * don't fish in your own back yard *, so I drove about
70 miles north and waited outside the watering hole. I had to wait about ten
minutes before a fish flopped out of the hole and practically begged me to
pick him up. He looked a little blue around the gills as I slowly drove by so I
knew he’d be any easy catch. I braked a little under a street light to make
sure the lure reflected and then watched in my rearview mirror to see if the
fish took the bait. It did. I went around the block and pulled up to the curb
a few yards ahead of him, got out of my Barracuda and leaned against the
hood and waited.
“Damn, that’s a nice car,” my little chub slurred.
“Thanks,” I replied and lightly stroked the front quarter panel.
“Whatcha’ got in it, a 340?”
He leaned in toward the hood of the car and I watched to be sure none of
his fishy slime touched the slick hood.
“440 magnum with a six pack.”
I smiled as I watched his face as the hook set in deep. Time to start
reeling him in. I dangled the keys in front of me.
“Care to go for a spin?”
I took him to the abandoned barn where I had taken my last catch to
clean. I didn't think it had bad vibes or anything like that . However, I must
admit, the last one wasn't very tasty. Even though this new one was out of
his elements, he was pretty feisty and put up a good fight. I smacked him
with the bat to calm him down. Then I took off his clothes and strung him
up on the stringer. I did it just like mom taught me: one end through the tip
of the nose and around the neck and the other end through the scrotum.
That way if they try to wriggle loose, you've got 'em from the top and the
bottom, so to speak. I put the lures around his hands and feet and waited
for him to resume flailing about.
As he hung from the rafters on his line, I got my cleaning stuff ready. It
always helps to offer them some incentive to answer the questions and
seeing the scaling knife often does the trick. Some of them think they're
tough, like this one and I have to actually use the knife before they offer up
some answers.
When my fish came to, I introduced myself.
"Hi, I'm Kelly," I said and gave my sweetest smile.
"Where the hell am I, you fucking bitch?"
"Now that's not a nice way to talk to your future bride." I smiled again and
blew him a kiss.
"Fuck you. Get me the fuck down and I won't kill your ass."
"Really, what would mother say if she could hear that potty mouth of
yours? I think maybe you should just take a look at the situation
here. You're hanging on a rope and I'm over here getting ready to
clean you, my little fishy. Now if you can prove you're worthy to be my
husband, all will be forgiven and I'll let you down. But if you can't..."
I sharpened my knives and waited for him to calm down. He wriggled a bit
but the rope was in him good and he hollered when he moved his torso too
far to the right in all his squirming.
I sashayed up to him, just like mom taught me and showed him the blade
up close.
"Now, here's your last chance to answer a question before I begin to
clean you." I scanned his naked body and he did need some serious
scaling that's for sure.
"Fuck you," he said and spit in my face.
I do like the feisty ones, I have to admit, and I love a challenge. I wiped
my face off on my handkerchief that I have for such occasions, shook my
head and began my work. I started with his stomach so the fish could
watch what I was doing. He screamed and he thrashed even with the rope
in him, but I just ignored him and kept right on scaling him. When I got a
good six-inch section cleaned he agreed to answer my questions.
"Good boy," I said and offered my first question.
"Who do you love more than anything else in the whole wide world?" I
batted my eyes at him.
"Jesus Christ lady, you're sick."
"Wrong answer, my little mackerel." I raised the knife again and began
scaling once more.
"Okay, Okay!" he screamed.
"Now, who do you love more than anything in the whole wide world?"
"You," he choked out.
I told you they always get that one right.
"I can't hear you," I sang.
"You! I love you more than anything in the world, okay?!"
"Good boy. Now, in what direction does the wind need to blow for the best
fishing?"
"What the fuck?"
"Come on now," I said pointing the scaler near his beady eyes, "surely
you've been fishing before."
"Jesus, I don't know."
"I'll give you some incentive to think a bit harder." I started scaling his
forehead and a chunk of skin flapped over his right eye before he finally
gave up an answer.
"The south?" he hollered.
"Oh, wrong answer, but I like you so I'll give you a hint. You can answer
the question in the form of a rhyme."
"I don't go fishing," he stammered, "I'm a hunter. You know guns, bang,
bang?"
"Too bad for you" I said.
I watched as he thrashed as much as the stringer would allow. I thought
maybe he'd cry and start begging, most do by now, but he hung on. I
admired that and gave him the last question anyway.
"Okay, little Coho, I like you so I'll give you the last question. If you can
answer it, you can be my husband and we'll live happily ever after. If not,
well, I'm sorry to say, but mother and I will be eating fish for dinner."
I smacked my lips to show him how tasty I thought he'd be.
He nodded and stared off into the distance. I knew I was losing him, so I
had to work fast.
"What is your future mother-in-law's name?"
"Oh Christ, I don't know. How the hell am I supposed to know an answer
to that, you sick fuck?"
"Awe, such a shame, and I really did like you. You were going to be my
keeping bass. The one I could bring home to mother to show I could catch
a good one just like she did."
"Please," he whispered.
But it was too late. When they start begging, it's over. I know in my heart
I could never love a minnow. I finished cleaning him and took the best cuts
for dinner that night - at least mother and I would be eating well. I cleaned
my knives and rinsed the blood from the floor with the water jugs I kept in
the trunk for cleaning. When I was done cleaning up, I scattered and
buried the rest of the fish carcass in the woods on the trip back home.
Over dinner that night, mother commented on the deliciousness of the
fish. I had to agree, it was very good. After dinner, I began making plans
for my next fishing trip. I had a feeling it was going to be a good one.
By Constance Lang
I've been going fishing since I turned sixteen. I awake very early, pack up
my tackle box and make myself breakfast to take along, just in case it turns
out to be a really long day. Sometimes, I end up traveling miles from home
just looking for the right location. I haven't really found the best fishing
spot yet and I figure that's why I haven't caught * the big one * to brag
about. There have been a few fish that have come close, don't get me
wrong, but still, they weren't anything to write home about.
Mom said the best way to catch one of the really good ones is to start
young when you have a lot of energy. She gave me other tips as well like;
make sure you have the right lure for the catch, and timing is everything.
She also warned against making too much noise while trolling. I’ve taken
all of her suggestions to heart and I think I’m close to perfecting my fishing
skills.
My only problem is, for the whole time I've been fishing, I've come up with
non-keepers. It takes a lot to get rid of the ones I can't keep too. It's not
like the old catch and release days (although, I must admit I have mounted
a few). And, disposing of the carcass - what a pain! It makes me glad that
I work out every day. If I didn't, I don't think I'd be able to lift all that dead
weight. Of course, I cut them into sections before disposing of them, but it
still takes muscle and concentration!
Like the last one - whew! He was a bullhead! Hooking him was the easy
part - it always is. It was the release that was tough. He just didn't want to
let go. I tried explaining to him that he just wasn't a good catch but he
wouldn't listen, just kept fighting like he didn't even hear me. Finally, I had
to put him out of my misery. He was a big one too, almost 200 pounds. He
didn't have anything worth mounting. So I cut him up (I kept the choice cuts
for dinner later of course), and buried him along sections of Route 9. I was
careful though; I picked nice secluded spots in the woods for the pieces
and always several miles a part, just like mom taught me.
Before my latest fishing trip, I had a long talk with mother and she
reminisced of how it was in the past with my first father before her own big
catch. I sat and listened. I know how she enjoys telling her fishy tale. She
remembered how father, she and I would go to the cabin (our current
home) on our yearly vacation. Father was an avid fisherman and taught us
all about catching the * big one *. He taught me about fly- fishing, fishing
on the big lakes (what he called the ponds) and even how to tie knots just
like the squids do.
She spoke of how father loved to play catch and release with her and
how he eventually thought of me as the one that kept getting away. It was
when he tried to put his hook into me that she decided he was worth more
stuffed and mounted on a mantle.
Anyway, mom said that maybe my questions were just too tough. Fish
have very small brains and can't think well. So, I revised some of my
questions and got rid of some. But truth be told, I don't think I'd want to
keep a fish if he couldn't even answer a basic question like 'what is your
future mother-in-law's name'. They always get the love question right, so I
figured I'd better keep that one. And, I've narrowed my questions down to
three, to keep it short and simple, just like mom suggested. So, tonight, I'm
hoping to find me a keeper!
My alarm went off at 12:10 AM and even though I was already awake in
anticipation of the day's catch, I waited until it did go off before getting out
of bed. I packed a small breakfast and added a couple of snacks, but I
didn't think I'd need them. I had a good feeling about tonight.
Mom always says, * don't fish in your own back yard *, so I drove about
70 miles north and waited outside the watering hole. I had to wait about ten
minutes before a fish flopped out of the hole and practically begged me to
pick him up. He looked a little blue around the gills as I slowly drove by so I
knew he’d be any easy catch. I braked a little under a street light to make
sure the lure reflected and then watched in my rearview mirror to see if the
fish took the bait. It did. I went around the block and pulled up to the curb
a few yards ahead of him, got out of my Barracuda and leaned against the
hood and waited.
“Damn, that’s a nice car,” my little chub slurred.
“Thanks,” I replied and lightly stroked the front quarter panel.
“Whatcha’ got in it, a 340?”
He leaned in toward the hood of the car and I watched to be sure none of
his fishy slime touched the slick hood.
“440 magnum with a six pack.”
I smiled as I watched his face as the hook set in deep. Time to start
reeling him in. I dangled the keys in front of me.
“Care to go for a spin?”
I took him to the abandoned barn where I had taken my last catch to
clean. I didn't think it had bad vibes or anything like that . However, I must
admit, the last one wasn't very tasty. Even though this new one was out of
his elements, he was pretty feisty and put up a good fight. I smacked him
with the bat to calm him down. Then I took off his clothes and strung him
up on the stringer. I did it just like mom taught me: one end through the tip
of the nose and around the neck and the other end through the scrotum.
That way if they try to wriggle loose, you've got 'em from the top and the
bottom, so to speak. I put the lures around his hands and feet and waited
for him to resume flailing about.
As he hung from the rafters on his line, I got my cleaning stuff ready. It
always helps to offer them some incentive to answer the questions and
seeing the scaling knife often does the trick. Some of them think they're
tough, like this one and I have to actually use the knife before they offer up
some answers.
When my fish came to, I introduced myself.
"Hi, I'm Kelly," I said and gave my sweetest smile.
"Where the hell am I, you fucking bitch?"
"Now that's not a nice way to talk to your future bride." I smiled again and
blew him a kiss.
"Fuck you. Get me the fuck down and I won't kill your ass."
"Really, what would mother say if she could hear that potty mouth of
yours? I think maybe you should just take a look at the situation
here. You're hanging on a rope and I'm over here getting ready to
clean you, my little fishy. Now if you can prove you're worthy to be my
husband, all will be forgiven and I'll let you down. But if you can't..."
I sharpened my knives and waited for him to calm down. He wriggled a bit
but the rope was in him good and he hollered when he moved his torso too
far to the right in all his squirming.
I sashayed up to him, just like mom taught me and showed him the blade
up close.
"Now, here's your last chance to answer a question before I begin to
clean you." I scanned his naked body and he did need some serious
scaling that's for sure.
"Fuck you," he said and spit in my face.
I do like the feisty ones, I have to admit, and I love a challenge. I wiped
my face off on my handkerchief that I have for such occasions, shook my
head and began my work. I started with his stomach so the fish could
watch what I was doing. He screamed and he thrashed even with the rope
in him, but I just ignored him and kept right on scaling him. When I got a
good six-inch section cleaned he agreed to answer my questions.
"Good boy," I said and offered my first question.
"Who do you love more than anything else in the whole wide world?" I
batted my eyes at him.
"Jesus Christ lady, you're sick."
"Wrong answer, my little mackerel." I raised the knife again and began
scaling once more.
"Okay, Okay!" he screamed.
"Now, who do you love more than anything in the whole wide world?"
"You," he choked out.
I told you they always get that one right.
"I can't hear you," I sang.
"You! I love you more than anything in the world, okay?!"
"Good boy. Now, in what direction does the wind need to blow for the best
fishing?"
"What the fuck?"
"Come on now," I said pointing the scaler near his beady eyes, "surely
you've been fishing before."
"Jesus, I don't know."
"I'll give you some incentive to think a bit harder." I started scaling his
forehead and a chunk of skin flapped over his right eye before he finally
gave up an answer.
"The south?" he hollered.
"Oh, wrong answer, but I like you so I'll give you a hint. You can answer
the question in the form of a rhyme."
"I don't go fishing," he stammered, "I'm a hunter. You know guns, bang,
bang?"
"Too bad for you" I said.
I watched as he thrashed as much as the stringer would allow. I thought
maybe he'd cry and start begging, most do by now, but he hung on. I
admired that and gave him the last question anyway.
"Okay, little Coho, I like you so I'll give you the last question. If you can
answer it, you can be my husband and we'll live happily ever after. If not,
well, I'm sorry to say, but mother and I will be eating fish for dinner."
I smacked my lips to show him how tasty I thought he'd be.
He nodded and stared off into the distance. I knew I was losing him, so I
had to work fast.
"What is your future mother-in-law's name?"
"Oh Christ, I don't know. How the hell am I supposed to know an answer
to that, you sick fuck?"
"Awe, such a shame, and I really did like you. You were going to be my
keeping bass. The one I could bring home to mother to show I could catch
a good one just like she did."
"Please," he whispered.
But it was too late. When they start begging, it's over. I know in my heart
I could never love a minnow. I finished cleaning him and took the best cuts
for dinner that night - at least mother and I would be eating well. I cleaned
my knives and rinsed the blood from the floor with the water jugs I kept in
the trunk for cleaning. When I was done cleaning up, I scattered and
buried the rest of the fish carcass in the woods on the trip back home.
Over dinner that night, mother commented on the deliciousness of the
fish. I had to agree, it was very good. After dinner, I began making plans
for my next fishing trip. I had a feeling it was going to be a good one.
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