Like bait, the young hunters felt for the first time what it meant to be trapped in their own decisions or indecisions. Life had been simple before this. Set the bait, catch the food, sell the food. If something sacred like a cat got caught in the trap, they set it free. They were young, not foolish. Everything wasn’t game, and not every game was food.
But they had never come across anything like this.
The demand for fish in this season was normal, and they were ready. Traps and bait lowered, waiting. In the glow of the moon, they sat in a circle around a small fireto light the way and keep warm. When the tugging began, they lined up as they always did, pulling the net from the lake, heavy with fish. This was the best part, reaping the reward of their work.
They edged forward to haul the catch onto the dock when a voice from the darkness stopped them cold.
“Boys... this is not going to be an easy decision.”
They turned sharply, looking back at the camp. No one was there.
“Boys. Look this way. Up here”
Their eyes darted to the net. In the middle of the writhing fish was something else. A fish unlike any they had ever seen. Hues of pink and green shimmered under the moonlight, a stark contrast to the dull gray of the others. It was beautiful.
And it was speaking.
“Boys.” The voice was steady, bored, patient. “You know what I am, don’t you?”
They nodded, chests rising and falling with uneven breaths.
“The one who puts me back into the sea will have all the wealth. But he must do so without quarrel. Without blood.”
The fire crackled, casting shadows over their faces. The net swayed.
“I will wait here while you decide how much your friendship is worth.”
They looked at each other. The weight of their lives pressed against them. One had a mother slipping away, coughing up prayers that never reached an answer. Another had no home, only a promise that he would find one. The last was raising his little sister alone, making himself small so she could have something and it was never enough.
They said nothing.
“Oh, I turn gray like the others by sunrise,” the fish murmured. “Then no one gets anything.”
More silence.
The wind carried the scent of raw fish and fate.
It spoke up one final time, “Good luck.”
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