if not thousands, of the fish that had been placed there to torment them. Quickly, the town began to
forget about them.
“Shark who?” They would ask jokingly, laughing at their success of torment.
However, the jovial mood of the town quickly diminished. For like the waves of the ocean the economy flopped yet again. The fish were no longer bought to torment the family, shutting down most,
if not all, of the local fisheries. People had traded in their spear guns for regular guns, so the spearfishing industry fell off the map. The kids had no physical anomalies to fake anymore: practices shut
down.
Then came the final laugh for the Sharks, for they did share one trait with their namesakes. The family existed as the city’s only exterminators. They killed the bugs, the spiders, the rats, and the mice
not wanted in the city. Most in the city ignorantly ignored this fact, so when the first woman saw a
rat sitting on her own counter, she screamed in pure anguish at the rodent.
When the first house fell to termites, the owner screamed in anguish at his newfound homelessness.
When the mayor, tuckered out from an evening of partying with his own subordinates, went to bed,
he found his room occupied. Occupied by eight thousand legs and one hundred bodies.
It was during these moments that the city at once learned what they had done. They may have had
success in torment, but in the end, without the sharks, the city and people alike began to crumple
and wither.
Families moved, businesses evacuated, nature took hold, and only the mayor, left with his ci