Antarctica is strange. It's stranger when it doesn't know it's being watched. The fish dance around the seals as if mimicking some forgotten ritual, their mouths opening and closing in a silent, burbling chant. The seals don't seem to notice them, until they disappear at least. They do it to the penguins too. I don't fish anymore.
YOU ARE READING
WritOber 2022
Short StoryA few short autumn writing exercises for the month of October.
