I am not going to mince words, fish are gross. By fish I mean any non-microbial (and some microbial) living thing that comes from the water, salt or fresh that humans currently or have ever eaten. My great aversion to fish began in six grade health class when I first learned that a symptom of many venereal diseases was a “fishy odor.” I don’t know about you, but I for one have no desire to eat anything that has any association with venereal disease. Which brings me to the topic of crabs. Another venereal disease and seafood “delicacy’ that some human beings believe is fit for consumption and others curse as their worst one night stand ever. Contrary to popular opinion lobsters are not actually (genetically) all that closely related to cockroaches. However, like all invertebrates they share a common ancestor, they also share one other trait, they are gross. Shrimp are also extremely gross, seaweed is disgusting and gross, and the less said about crayfish the better, particularly if what is said is with their even less appealing redneck nickname crawfish or crawdads. Yuck. Ewww. Nasty. Ugh. I hate fish. You might think that given my hatred of fish I would be happy to sea them dead or dying. You would be wrong, as the only thing worse than the smell of a living fish is how they smell when they are dead. I think I am going to be sick now. Damn fish.
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Everyday Junglist
About me. You know how everyone says to be a successful writer you should focus in one or two areas. I continue to prove them correct.
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2026 The War of the Americas
Author's preface: The earlier parts of the story can be found at the links. Part I, II, III, IV, V, VI Sylvia sat quietly in the very back row of the heavily armored prisoner transport bus with her head down and her hands ziptied behind her back. Four Mexican soldiers armed with FX-05 Xiuhcoatl rifles patrolled the aisle of the bus which currently was home to Sylvia and at least fifty other American POWs. All had been recently arrested after they were declared enemy combatants following the United States bombing of several targets along the US Mexican border including the city of Tijuana and the (formerly) busiest land border crossing in the world at San Ysidro. That crossing had been reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble by US cruise missiles launched from just offshore, killing hundreds, including at least 150 US customs and border patrol agents who had not been prewarned about the surprise attack. Sylvia was well acquainted with firearms and had great respect for the FX-05 assault rifle which was designed and built by the Dirección General de Industria Militar del Ejército (General Directorate of Military Industry of the Army) through the Fabricas Militares (Military Factory). The name translated roughly as "Fire Serpent", or literally "Turquoise-Serpent" in classical Nahuatl, a language with which Sylvia was only passingly familiar, unlike the six other languages she spoke fluently which included Latin, Ancient Greek, and Middle Egyptian along with Spanish, English, Italian, and German. The fact that she was fluent in Spanish or any other language was something she kept secret from the Mexicans and everyone else. The more they saw her as just another ignorant American the better. Her knowledge of Spanish had allowed her to learn a few things the guards had spoken amongst themselves thinking no one would understand. Importantly, she had heard that the war against Mexico was not at all popular in the United States. Donald Trump had gravely miscalculated the appetite of the average American for bloodshed, especially when it was American's blood that was being shed. The families of the CBP agents killed in the bombing of San Ysidro border crossing had rallied a huge number of Americans to their sides in protest and marched on Washington en masse. Thousands or even tens of thousands of Americans had been arrested and imprisoned in makeshift prison camps scattered around the Washington DC area. She and the other prisoners had been constantly on the move for almost a week. Changing from bus to bus as they slowly made there way to wherever it was they were going. She had learned that they were still in the Mexican border state of Baja, California and were heading to a newly erected prison camp somewhere just south of Mexicali. She had feared they would be flown to the mainland and imprisoned there, but at least for now that did not seem to be the plan. Sylvia was very afraid of what she might find when they finally did reach their destination. She had only been interrogated perfunctorily when initially arrested, a fact she was puzzled by, but knew a much more serious interrogation lay in wait for her. She had been rehearsing her cover story and was prepared for anything they might throw at her. The fact that she had been rehearsing and preparing a similar cover story to use with her own husband had she not decided to tell him about her new job with the CIA made the process much easier. The CIA had also helped her considerably in this regard by making sure she had rock solid alibis in place for each and every place she would claim to have been, and every thing she would claim to have done and been doing over the past almost two years of living in Mexico and working in the United States.
By Everyday Junglistabout a year ago in Fiction
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Brilliantly crafted