Swim fast through cellophane oceans, killing beast of the candy seas. Your teeth bend; a gnoosh where one would expects gnash. Dreams of lying in sickly sweet wait on the shores of coastal beach towns, young supple maidens screaming as your frenzy overtakes you. Frothy teenage gore is what you demand to slake your instinctual thirst.

Instead, grade school children devour you, sometimes by the tail. Or, alternatively, and more ingloriously, by the head. You hang on a hook in some rundown newsvendor’s shop, when instead, your death should come as the denouement of some spectacular chase, the final act your doom at the masterful hands of the heroic fisherman; your belly rent asunder to reveal fingers, toes, pieces of yachts, and bulldog heads.

Photo - N
Words - S