Fish swims along the length of Man\u2019s calf, a span of rainbow fins across lonely skin. Man stands in the shallow part of the sea and remembers the first time he held her hands. It was the summer of three protein shakes and zero carb swim sessions of eight-pack glory and changing girls more frequently than his own underwear. He\u2019d stood in the exact same spot and relished in the feeling of being the Man. Conqueror of two hundred meter breaststrokes, thus the world. He\u2019d looked at her and saw challenge. He liked his side quests.<\/p>\n
Man lifts his ankle like bait, and watches as the sea\u2019s translucent creatures sidle up for a nibble, their bodies about six inches long, all boneless and unwrinkled. Just like her when they\u2019d first started dating. For someone so conventionally pretty, she\u2019d had an explosive amount of “what-ifs” and “can-you-imagine?” Dragged him into museums and photographed rocks the colour of his boredom. Get some and get out, his friends advised as they exchanged nudes of chicks they were bedding. She\u2019s too much for you.<\/p>\n
Fish brushes past Man\u2019s kneecap, across his inner thigh. He remembered the second time she\u2019d touched him there, giggling about some dumb TV commercials whilst her garlic-tinged fingers reached higher, and he remembers how frustratingly slow they\u2019d been moving, and how unexpectedly endearing it was to hear all the trivial little information she spouted at random. They had known each other for exactly fifteen days and four hours when he blurted out, \u201cI\u2019ll marry you,\u201d and meant it.<\/p>\n
She’d shaken her head at him, pressing her body so close he tensed all over. \u201cThis is only our fourth date. We\u2019ll have to go on at least ten thousand more.\u201d<\/p>\n
It didn\u2019t take that long. Three years, a hundred and eighty-three dates later, they\u2019d stood in this very beach, and whilst he kissed her until he grew breathless, she had been busy decorating their forever home inside her head. The nursery should be blue, she had insisted, like the ocean. And yellower than the sun.<\/p>\n
Maybe it was because they couldn\u2019t find the right shade of yellow. Or maybe because nothing could ever be truly ocean blue, his health reports arrived before the nursery was done. He could never, still cannot, comprehend how one could be so healthy and ever so infertile. All his swimmers were weak, though he himself had won the national swimming championship thrice in a row.<\/p>\n
She had insisted it didn\u2019t matter, except it did. They skirted away from talking about babies or trying making them. Their conversations became rooted in the direct present: lunch, TV programs, dinner. Half attempted jibs and humour and conversations Sahara dry. Somewhere between the second round of fertility treatment and punching the friends who\u2019d offered to sleep with his wife, he considered divorce. But his hairline was receding, and the thought of giving up three hot meals and an even hotter wife sounded like a death sentence.<\/p>\n
So Man tries to carry on but everything was a reminder of his own inability: the invitations to colleagues\u2019 baby showers, the clumsy toddling children on the streets. Even his parents\u2019 presence at his baby sister’s graduation was soiled by the echo of what he could never have. His wife suggested therapy, and dates, and adoption but she didn\u2019t understand, could never understand what it meant to be cursed with such an inability. To be reduced to half a man. He began pulling away, ignoring the hurt in her eyes. Invented meetings and trips, and excuses until he could do what he\u2019s doing right now: stand on an empty beach. Live in the memories of what-used-to-be.<\/p>\n
The wind picks up, curling across the greenery-covered sand dunes. Amber clouds scuttle by.\u00a0 The water is, had been, and will always be the same tepid, promised blue. In serenity, the truth sinks in. Man knows he\u2019ll have to be better or at least pretend. Read her never-ending texts. Listen to her yabbering. Respond when she cries. He\u2019s seen what happens to husbands who don\u2019t put in the perfunctory work. The rebellion usually starts in the kitchen, with meals uncooked and dishes piling up, then moves to the undone laundry, before one of them flaps the divorce flag in the air. But for heaven\u2019s sake, he’s never cried. Why is she allowed to have so many tears?<\/p>\n
The cool waves break across his body. Fish swims further up, past the end of his leg, towards the source of all unhappiness, and opens its mouth. For a long, eternal second, neither Man nor Fish moves. A shiver races up Man\u2019s spine. Endless possibilities in his head. Fish can be lethal. This time next week, his family and friends will all gather for his funeral. A sob rises in his throat. He can\u2019t die. He hasn\u2019t even left a damn will.<\/p>\n
Or Fish might be radioactive. His balls will swell twice their size. Some chicks dig that. Didn\u2019t they? Once the venom is fully absorbed by his useless seeds, it would heal all his problems. This time next year, his baby will have been able to lift their heads whilst lying on their soft tummy.<\/p>\n
Oh God, what if Fish has razor teeth? He\u2019d be mono-testicular and infertile. A eunuch. What will his wife say?<\/p>\n
Man looks down at the fish. Would it really be so bad for him to lose a testicle? He\u2019d be the victim of a freak accident. His wife could never divorce him if he loses an organ, whether or not he puts enough work into their marriage. She\u2019s too good of a person.<\/p>\n
Fish, as if hearing his reasoning, doesn\u2019t bite down. It flicks its tail, darts through the sea in one smooth movement, and disappears into the beyond, leaving Man alone.<\/p>\n
Man stares at the setting sun, touches his intact manhood and with a long sigh, slowly steps out of the water.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Fish swims further up, past the end of Man’s leg, towards the source of all unhappiness, and opens its mouth. For a long, eternal second, neither Man nor Fish moves. A shiver races up Man\u2019s spine. Endless possibilities in his head.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":25583,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-24709","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","writer-annie-zh-sun"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24709","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24709"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24709\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25584,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24709\/revisions\/25584"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25583"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24709"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24709"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24709"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}