Salmon

Note: a female salmon is called a hen, males are bucks.

The river was lit by sunlight filtering through the ripples and currents, bouncing from stones and silt that formed the bed, glinting from the scales of the salmon that wove their inexorable way against the flow, locked in a battle of wills between themselves and Nature. Hundreds of them battled their way upstream, setting the water ablaze in refracted light, turning the usually calm brook into a blue sequined dress that spun and twirled around the dancefloor. What goes through their tiny heads as they swim this almost futile path? Do they know where they are going, or do they just know that they must go? What drives them to do this, year after year?

Salvatore looked intently forward, trying to ignore the childhood friend that had insisted on pestering him for the entire journey.

“Quit playin Salv, ya know we gots ta leave some bling at da upcreek crib.” Sally said yet again.

“Yo das what our rents told us.” Salvatore retorted. “Gurl you knows I’mma prefer swim all up the other river. This buck needs a bromance, emphasis on da man.”

“Aight, if you won’t do it for yo selfish ass, then least do it for cha homegurl.”

“Sally babe I love ya, but we both knows chu’d be swimmin in the bucks if ya didn’ keep houndin me. Yo grill slammin, bets ta all them chanky hens.” Salvatore ducked around a particularly large buck, letting his gaze linger longer than his parents would have preferred. But hey, his parents weren’t here.

“So ya’ll admit ya think I fine!” Sally crowed.

Salv sighed. “Gurl you gots ta know there’s a diff in knowin you pretty and wanten to bump uglies. You smarter than this.”

“I know, I know, but shortie can dream can’t she?” Sally cosied up to his right, brushed their scales together. “Sure there ain’t some way I can clean ya?”

“Hoooo, girl you playin.” Salv replied. “Ain’t something I can just flip.”

Sally pouted, leading Salvatore to roll his eyes.

“I’mma jet and see yo skinny ass upside.” Sally said, eyeing off the small rapids that they were approaching.

Salvatore grinned. “Ya know it, shortie.” Sally was the better swimmer out of the two of them; she would undoubtedly make it up before him. She winked and sped ahead and, sure enough, by the time he reached the turbulent whitewater she was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and set about flinging himself up the rapids, occasionally pausing to take a breather or admire the eye candy around him. Only the strongest bucks had made it this far, and he was not disappointed by the show they were putting on. He wasn’t sure why Sally didn’t make more of a move on the other bucks. She knew he wasn’t interested, but he never saw her with anyone else. It certainly wasn’t because she was shy. She dominated their discussions. The only reason he could get a word in edgeways now was because she was tired from the swimming.

Eventually, he made it to the top of the rapids, feeling a bit dizzy from the exertion. He looked around, calling for Sally, but he couldn’t see her around. Strange. He swam back and forth for a bit, waiting for her to appear, but as time went on he began to worry. He should have seen her by now, or at the very least she should have found him. She was creepily good at finding him.

He brushed up against something cold and turned to have a look. There was a morsel of food attached to… his blood ran cold(er). The subtle glint of metal shone through the food, the point of the hook just barely poking out. Salvatore swam to the surface and stuck out his head, looking at the riverbanks until he saw what he feared. Three humans on the left bank, each with a fishing rod. Even as he watched, though, they began to pack up. The human with short hair held up a hen to show the others and Salvatore instantly recognised Sally. She was still alive, but only just.

Salv began to swim frantically toward her, calling her name, but his voice didn’t carry well out of the water and either she didn’t hear him or she was too far gone to respond. The riverbank appeared before he noticed it and he landed hard on the rocks, bouncing back and forward as he gasped for breath. Something rough and strong picked him up in a grip as strong as a shark and the world pitched and rolled until finally he was put down in a small amount of water with three other salmon. Two were dead. The last was Sally, still flicking her tail weakly.

“You cray, Salv. Ain’t no reas fo ya’ll to be here.” She gasped.

“Quit playin Sal, lez clear. I wouldn’ta helped none of those playas anyway.” Salvatore could feel his brain slowing. “Better I conversate with my main girl, all lone.”

Sally smiled, then the light left her eyes. Salvatore stopped moving before the darkness took him, just lying with his best friend, enjoying the feel of her scales one last time.

This one is a bit different. I was tasked to write this with 3 main guidelines: It must be about homosexual salmon, if they speak it must be ghetto and if they die it must be through sustainable fishing. Now, I've never actually written from the perspective of a salmon before, nor tried to write 'ghetto', so I was VERY apprehensive about this. However, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I had to write a 'regular dialogue' version first, so that I could actually get to the end, then go back and change the words.

As always, comments and feedback are welcome.