The large sail fish flopped around violently, to and fro, just before the captain walked up and pierced its scaly skin with a short spear. It writhed back and forth, pinned down to the wood by its dorsal fin, then slowed down, and finally stopped. Its body was translucent exposing its organs. The captain yelled some guttural order out to the rest of the crew, who were reeling in the large net of fish and centering it over two bay doors. The fish dropped and everyone forgot about the sad, morose, sail fish that lay motionless under the captain’s spear.

The sail fish looked so peaceful, as if it were back under water breathing and living. Its tail flicked towards its head in an unhealthy manner, as it siezed up from a lack of nutrients.

As it lay there gasping its last breaths, it struck me how unnatural it was to be out of the ocean, straining for fresh oxygen purified through the water. Walking up to it I realized how vulnerable it was, exposed to the elements, on the hard wood floors of the boat.