Welcome
to The Spot Writers. August’s prompt is to use
these five words in a story or poem: besides,
fishes, inn, owing, born.
This
week’s story comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Cathy’s novel, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a
psychological drama, is available from her locally or on Amazon.
MISTER
WOLFE (the sequel) coming soon!
Go Fish
by Cathy MacKenzie
Amber looked up toward the large
blue-shingled house, which was so unfamiliar to her. What little they’d moved
into the house two days previous was in disarray. The bulk of their furniture and
other possessions weren’t due to be delivered for another week. Until then, the
family would sleep at the Riverside Inn and spend days at the house.
According to her mother, there was
plenty to do at the new house. "Dad has to mow the lawn, and I have to
clean," she’d said. "You kids can organize your rooms.” She had smiled.
“And play, too. Summer will soon be over.”
Right, Amber thought. Organize our rooms? What is there to
organize?
She was thankful she didn’t have
to deal with school the same time as the move. But Labour Day would soon be
upon them, marking the end of summer vacation. Luckily, her parents had bought
a house in the same neighbourhood, so she and her brother, Julien, would still be
attending the same schools.
Her mother couldn’t understand
why it had to take so long for their furniture to be packed up and delivered. “Spencer,
why don’t we rent a truck and move ourselves? This is ridiculous,” she had
spouted. “We’re less than ten blocks away, for Pete’s sake.”
Apparently, the end of July was
the busiest time for movers in their area, and Amber’s father wouldn’t admit he
had procrastinated calling the moving company. She knew he had messed up when
she overheard him arguing on the telephone with the company. She was glad he’d
apologized or they might never have gotten a moving date.
Amber liked their new house,
which was much larger than their previous one. The grounds were more spacious,
too. Numerous colourful flowers grew alongside the house, mostly all foreign to
her, although she did recognize the daisies.
And, of course, she was familiar
with rose bushes that bordered one side of the fish pond.
But what good was a fish pond
without fish?
“I can't believe there’s no fish,”
she said, glancing at her brother.
“Yeah, according to Dad, the
previous owner said they died.”
“I don't know why we can't get
more.”
Julien sighed. “Mom can't be
bothered. She figures Dad won't help out and then it'll all fall on her. In the
spring she said we can get some. She hates the thought of them in the cold all
winter. You know her.”
“But goldfish are supposed to
survive over the winter. Though I don’t know how.”
“You're supposed to make sure
there's a hole in the ice so the fish can breathe while they hibernate.”
“If they hibernate, why do they
need a hole in the ice?”
Julian glared at her. “I don't
know. Just what I've read.”
“Dad says you read too much.”
“Yeah, well Mom says you daydream
too much.”
She ignored him and stared into
the pond. She shook the unopened container of fish food, which she had grabbed
off the shelf in the garage.
“I'm going to sprinkle some food
on the water. Maybe if the other people had fed them, they’d still be alive.”
“No sense feeding dead fish,”
Julien said.
Ignoring her brother, she unscrewed
the lid and sprinkled flakes on the water.
“It’s probably old. That’s why
they left it,” Julien said. “Outdated. Not good for anything. And you know
what? If the owners said they hadn’t fed the fish for two years, it’s probably
more like five. Everyone lies.”
The flakes floated together for a
few seconds and slowly separated.
“The poor dead fishes,” Amber
said, swiping at her eyes with her left hand. She'd been teary lately, which
was unusual for her, probably owing to the stress of the move. She was only
twelve, but her hormones would be raging sooner than later. And more tears, she
figured.
She shrieked. “Look! What’s
that?”
“What’s what?”
“There.” She pointed. “Isn’t that
a fish?”
While she watched, another bright
orange fish swam alongside.
Another appeared.
And a fourth.
The last two were a paler orange.
Almost translucent.
“I don’t believe it,” Julien
said. “They can't have survived for this long.”
“Look, they’re jumping at the
food. We have to go tell Mom.”
“No, we can’t tell her. She’s got
enough on her mind. Besides, if you tell her, she’ll freak about them all
winter long.”
“What, then? We don’t tell anyone
they’re here?”
“We’ll just come down and feed
them every day. Then, over the winter, we’ll make sure there’s a hole in the
ice. We can surprise Mom in the spring, once the snow is gone.”
“Mom wasn’t born yesterday. Don’t
you think she’ll find out?”
“How will she find out? Besides,
once she knows these fish survived, she’ll be more receptive to getting more.”
“What about Dad? Should we tell
him?”
“No, Dad’ll only tell Mom. They
don’t have secrets, remember.”
“Yeah, right.” She’d heard her
parents talk enough about how marriages shouldn’t have secrets, no matter how
small. She giggled. Her father hadn’t shared the moving van story. “Okay, it’s
our secret? No one else’s?”
“Yep, it’s our secret.”
“Oh, I love secrets,” Amber said,
already anticipating telling her mother. She might even tell her the moving van
secret.
***
The
Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val
Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine
A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil
Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara
De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/
Great post.
RispondiEliminahttps://pbase.com/fisharoma/profile