The Fish’s Perspective

By Amaya Esparza

I was caught by a midget of a human, 

and so rudely I was held beside the boat 

half out of water, their hook lodged

painfully in the corner of my mouth.

I wasn’t going to fight.

I was tired of fighting.

The human eyed my threshed,

archaic scales, probably finding

the sight to be vile. My brown

skin which hung in strips

was tribute to my escaping of death 

a multitude of times.

The barnacles that decorated my body 

like stars in the sky and the white,

tiny sea-lice that inhabit my frame 

were my only friends.

As my gills tried to suck in

the horrid oxygen, the human

stared me down once more.

I looked into their eyes,

which were much smaller than mine

and looked like the tiny pebbles that

rest on the ocean floor.

I looked away as

the world dimmed and 

my focus began swimming.

My time was coming.

I thought of the five rusted hooks 

anchored in my lip.

My unwanted trophies from the

times I broke free from captivity.

My jaw was aching from

holding all my weight,

my gills gasping,

my eyesight rapidly fading.

Then, I felt the rush of cool

water surrounding me.

The human had let me go.

By Amaya Esparza