FISHHOOK

By the time the fish breached the surface it was already dead. The fight was gone. The eyes just stared, unseeing and bulging, as the boy struggled to swing the lifeless eight-pounder into the boat. It must have tired itself out, fighting for freedom. Struggling against the current and the hook. The boy stared sadly through blurry eyes while his father tousled his short brown hair. “That was well done boy,” he said nodding. He smiled. “That fish will taste great, I can tell.” The boy forced a smile.