Fishpaste: Nicholas and Jennifer

Talking solves everything

Love is a cruel, cruel game. That is why it must be played with dexterity.

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What was the fish doing? How did it jump out of the water with such grace? It had been on dry land for the past 12 minutes so why was it not dead yet? There were so many questions Mr G.T had while he continued to stare at the silent fish, both curious and horrified. He awaited in silence for its next move, but the fish did not move. Its scales were still coated in an obvious sheen of water. It should have dried up. It should have died. But it didn't. How did Mr. G.T know? He could hear - more like feel - the fish breathing. Somewhere inside of him, he felt the fish's gills and his own lungs heaving rythmically. And he worried. What on earth was going on?

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As dawn turned to dusk, the curious gleam in Mr. G.T's eyes faded and in its place, his eyebrows creased into an expression of utter frustration. The fish still hadn't moved.

Picking himself up angrily off the floor, Mr. G.T ventured inside the barn and grabbed a mini spear; more like a branch of a sycamore tree pointed with a jagged rock. The fish not only vexed him to hell, but also terrified him. What was he doing? Why was he alive? Why was Mr. G.T able to detect the fish's living soul from within himself? Now he was going to end this once and for all.

With teeth bared through stretched back lips and angry wrinkles meandering from his eyes, Mr. G.T brought his spear down in a violent gesture. Then the most peculiar thing happened.

Before mr. G.t could strike, the fish's fin stretched out to take hold his wrist in an iron grip, wrapping his second fin around the spear's rough branch. In an instant, the spear was out of mr. G.T's grasp and in the fish's, but instead of striking it into Mr. G.T's heart, which he could have so easily done, he began scribbling something into the course, grey soil. When he was done, he flopped to the ground unelegantly, this time his eye fixated on Mr. G.T's face, who in turn stared back in horror.

The words in the soil read: I am Nicholas DeSoto, King of the Coral Lands, son of Helen, and I am here to negotiate.