Fishy

As my closed eyes open and the dream of my calves playing among the corals curtail, I realize that my body is contiguiting the earth, perhaps the shore, because I can feel the sharps rays of the blazing sun puncture my tender skin. Yes. It is the shore. I have beached myself, for I can feel the grains of sand resining to my throat rooves. Ouch! There's a sudden ache in my rostrum. OH those goddamn Dioxins and Furans! Must have corrupted me when I ate those planktons for breakfast. I am now running out of breath, the sun is too coruscating and I'm dehydrating at an accelerated rate, and and I'm drying out. I know it. I can feel it. Are these my last moments? Is this my destiny? With an overly-dehydrating body and failing organs, I decide to take one last walk down memory lane. Oh my charming lady, my adorable babies, never will I consign to oblivion the wonderful aeon I had with my mates, travelling in pods to outlying, faraway waters. Ooh! I'm getting worse. My breath is quickening, it's almost over. I see someone walking over to me, perhaps a rescuer. Looks like he's got his little daughter along with him. Under the dazzling sun, the tears of the little girl dry up leaving stains on her trepidated face. Anytime now. The little human places her soft palm on my paper-like body, and whispers something which happens to be the last words I ever hear. "Fishy? Why are you sleeping?" As my shutters close and the seagulls await my death, I fall into a deep slumber. From which I will never awake.