Only Peripherially About Fish

Thanks for your kind comments, Bob. It's the pictures; wonderful pictures make good words, I guess. Last night I got a bit wordy (I hope you don't mind), so here goes:

A few more steps across the blackened rock, careful not to get tangled in the grasping branches of the sea grape colonizing the edge, and Jack could look down into the sea. Water the color of liquid turquoise lapped at the base of the rock where it plunged underwater, hissing and foaming in the spaces. The cliff face, all of the rock on this tiny island, was ancient reef pushed into the air by forces deep within the planet. Jack used his hand to shade his eyes as he scanned the shallows for his quarry. The water was so clear and the sand so white beneath it that even the smallest movement was visible. He saw schools of fish going about their business. He watched groups of Bar Jacks hunting, darting to scatter smaller fish when they struck. He saw the silver blade of a solitary barracuda patrolling the reef edge, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on the unwary. All seemed normal. He turned to the cab driver standing nervously behind the open door of his van. "Are you sure this is where you heard Manning ask to go?" As the driver nodded, licking his lips to moisten them, his mouth suddenly dry from the thread of menace in Jack's voice, neither man noticed a hand reach up over the lip of the drop-off and slowly close around Jack's ankle. Pulled off-balance and flailing in the heartless air, Jack fell silently onto the tumbled boulders at the base of the cliff, then his unconscious form rolled into the cool water. Manning clung to the ironshore rocks and sea grape roots for a moment to watch Jack's body being sliced and shredded by the waves until he noticed the first predators vector in from the navy blue of deeper water. He pulled himself up onto the top of the cliff, rolled over the sea grape and stood up, dusting his hands on his shorts. "Not a bad acting job, Evert," he said, clapping the driver on the back. Evert gave him a mute look, went around the back of the van, and lost his breakfast in the thorny scrub, drawing an interested audience of lizards. Manning climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key. "Mount up; I'll drive. I think we could both use a Polar, maybe a whole six-pack." Evert emerged from the bush dragging a shaky hand over his mouth, got into the van and slammed the door. Manning jammed through the gears and drove south in a flurry of gravel, leaving only a small dust cloud to mark Jack's passing.

Not my usual kind of writing, but I like it. See you Thursday. Don't forget it's exercises night!

--Barbara