Assisi: An Online Journal of Arts & Letters Volume 4, Issues 1 & 2 | Page 50

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Mack had never heard about fish as fertilizer before. But he did as he was
told: he fetched the spade out of the garage, then sat in the sun next to his dead
conquest waiting for his old man.
It was going on late afternoon. The setting sun had poured a fiery red
refulgence over the rooftops of the city. The day had begun magically, but
something had happened to change everything, and it had all started when he’d
caught that fish. Now Mack had lost everything. Worse, he sensed that he was
going to feel the loss in one way or another for the rest of his life.
A couple of minutes later his father threw open the door.
“What the hell you waitin’ for, kid?” He picked up the spade and headed
for the staked plants at the rear of the tiny yard.
There was a rock in Mack’s throat and tears in his eyes, but he blinked
them away. He reached for his trophy and followed.

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