minnow

Mom can't talk anymore. She doesn't respond when we touch her. I used to think we had our words forever. We're surrounded with words, with conversations, from senseless texting and chatting about things that just don't matter, to the background buzz of the radio or tv. None of that matters now. I'm tired of talking.

Bill went fishing this morning and put the hook lightly into the minnow, so that we saw the bobber gently gliding across the water for 5 minutes, 10 minutes. The minnow was still alive. He decided that it was better to let him go, so I gently took him off the hook, and handed him to Bill, as he wanted to be the one to save his life. Only the minnow, in desperation, flopped in between the slats of the dock and landed on the floating black thing under the dock. We tried to save him by pushing him with a knife, but by the time we were done, he had died. I turned away from Bill so he didn't see me cry. He could've lived, there was no reason for him to die.