Written by Jamaican native Horace Fletcher, Fish Kill and Other Modern Day Fables presents a series of fables that encompass day-to-day life experiences and conclude with surprise endings to emphasize the unseen consequences of life's choices. Combining vivid imagery with lyrical prose, Fletcher paints an intimate picture of the human experience often hidden from view. From the blue, crystal waters of the Caribbean to a rural Mexican village, Fletcher delves into the deepest of human emotions. In "Rat Race," a laboratory technician's animal experiments take a wrong turn, while a case of mistaken identity causes serious consequences in "Dead Ringer." Fletcher enters the world of science fiction in "Earth Invasion," and "Bleeding Hearts" features a police chief trying to solve a baffling crime. Each story offers a unique lesson, one that challenges us to examine the daily decisions we make and how they affect those around us. Insightful and eclectic, Fish Kill and Other Modern Day Fables will compel you to stop and think about how you interact with the Earth and its other inhabitants.

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Fish Kill and Other Modern Day Fables

By Horace Fletcher

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright � 2010 Horace Fletcher
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-7225-4

Chapter One

FISH KILL

The blue-green water of the Caribbean Sea was serene. The canoe rocked gently in the waves as the lone fisherman looked out eagle-eyed for the telltale signs of fish. Jakey—short for Jakes—was no Jacques Cousteau, but he was as old a salt of the sea as any. He was a thin, wiry man with bronzed, wrinkled skin from his countless encounters with skies without shade. His crop of hair was bright red from the bleaching effect of sun and sea, while his skin was the colour of chocolate. He stood steadily in the canoe and shaded his eyes to look for the large shimmer of a school of parrot fish, the favourite eating fish of the Hellshire Beach crowd. In his hand, he held a stick of dynamite, illegal but quite effective for his purpose. What did he care about damage to reefs and all of that crap? He had two greedy baby mothers and twelve children to support. He also had to pay back the Co-op for the cost of his secondhand boat engine, and of course he had to be able to be a man and buy the fellows a drink at Friday night's domino game.

He noted the first evidence of a ripple, and then he saw what he had been searching for all morning—a large school of parrot fish. He waited until they came near enough and then lit the fuse. The dynamite sailed through the air and fell accurately in the middle of the school with an imperceptible ploop.

About 300 yards away, the tiger shark swam lazily, swinging his large tail from side to side in the constant effort to stay afloat and keep water rushing through his gills. The shark was hungry; he had not eaten for two days, and the hunger pangs were now sending harsh signals to his tiny brain. Although his eyesight was fairly good, his main senses were his acute sense of smell—which could detect one drop of blood in a million parts of seawater—and his lateral lines, which could detect the faintest vibration of a struggling fish from 100 yards away. The shark felt the unusual vibration as the detonation of the dynamite sent shock waves through the water from 200 yards away. He decided to investigate and swam easily toward the source.

In the meantime, Jakey scooped up dead fish gleefully with his net. He was alone, and the sun was hot, but he smiled as he scooped fish, realizing that he had hit the jackpot today. He wiped his brow and steadied himself in the boat and scooped up another net full of fish. Most of the fish were dead—some shattered and bleeding from the explosion—while some were still alive but stunned and unable to swim away. He was not really worried about fish quality, as all of the fish would be sold or given away by the end of the day.

The shark came closer and closer to the canoe. He noted the smell of blood from the dead fish and swam forward more eagerly. He soon detected the odd shape of the canoe and noted the splashing activity beside the shape. He switched to attack mode, swished his tail vigorously, and swam upward toward the canoe.

The sudden crash into the canoe caught Jakey off guard. He lost his balance and fell headlong into the water. He was only a moderate swimmer, although he spent so much time at sea. Under the surface of the water, he noted the huge, dark shape near to him. He blinked in astonishment, and then his eyes opened in horror as he noted the immense snout and mouthful of sharp teeth inches from his face. With superhuman effort, he swam up and held onto the side of the boat and scrambled in.

The shark was confused; what he had bitten into was definitely inedible. His brain was, however, being bombarded with all kinds of signals—splashing shapes and the smell of blood—and then he noted the dead fish. There were a lot of fish, enough to fill a hungry stomach and drive away the hunger pangs. He opened his mighty jaws and swallowed down about ten in one go. He swam around for another go and downed some more like a drunk at closing time, not even stopping to relish the morsels as they slid down his throat.

Jakey lay in the boat, wet and frightened. His chest heaved, and his body quivered uncontrollably. He gripped the seat of the boat in fear and swore softly as he gradually got his breath back. "What a blow wow shark, ugly and big." He peered over the edge of the boat, almost not daring to look. He saw the huge dorsal fin circling, and he instinctively fell back down in the boat among the slippery dead fish he had already netted. After another ten minutes, he dared himself to look again, hoping that the monster by now had left.

From the boat, he could see the huge shape of the shark eating his catch. He looked around in anger, grabbed a stick of dynamite, and lit the fuse. "Yu brute yu, dead you fi dead." He lit the fuse and decided to blow the monster fish out of the water. But as he stood up to throw the stick, he slipped on his catch, and the dynamite fell from his grasp as he grabbed the boat to steady himself to avoid falling into the sea again. The dynamite slid away from him and disappeared somewhere down toward the other end of the boat. The look of horror returned to Jakey's face as he realized his predicament. The explosion was horrific; it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. He opened his eyes to find the back half of his boat gone and water up to his chest as the rest of the boat and his belongings, including his life jacket, sank rapidly.

He could hear nothing, as the ringing of the explosion was still in his ears, but he was alive and able to tread water. His mind flashed back to his children and how they would starve tonight. He thought of his illegal fishing method that had served him well for so long but had now proved disastrous. Suddenly, he remembered the monster and started swimming vigorously away from the sinking boat.

The shark was startled by the explosion. The acrid smell and the huge vibration had again confused him. For a moment, he forgot about his meal and swam away a short distance. Then he noted the splashing coming toward him. Some animal was coming, a possible meal. He could see the shape—it was larger than a fish. He swam toward Jakey with his mouth of sharp teeth wide open.

Yes, it was a lovely day for a fish kill.

Bleeding Hearts

The bullet had ripped through the ventricles and through the aorta and the azygous veins, exiting through the back and leaving a gaping hole the size of a fist. Death had thankfully come quickly, a combination of exsanguination and the victim drowning in his own blood. The pathologist wrote his notes carefully and made a concerted effort to examine the body himself from head to toe. No cursory look here, despite the fact that this body—like the other fourteen he had seen since coming to Jamaica four months before—was obviously that of a street person. The body had many scars, including burns from constant disputes and abuse from other street people, as well as from people who had caught him in their yards trying to steal a few common mangoes to stave off the constant hunger born of deprivation. His skin was black not only from its pigmentation but from a thick layer of dirt and grease as a result of not bathing for several years. His hair was thick and knotted with no evidence of combing for as long as he had been on the streets. His clothes, now piled in a heap nearby, were grayish brown and had an odour that could be detected from outside...

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