Flash Fiction written by members and friends of the MuseItUp Club. Submissions are invited for this page.*

Catch of the Day

by Donna Jones

"John talked too much. His advice came faster than a trout snaps a fly, but I got the gist of it," I said. "We caught us a delicacy."

Doug, my best friend and fishin' partner, pointed at the fresh tap water. "That won't kill 'em."

"Nah, according to John, this'll work. We got to keep 'em alive and squigglin' 'til they're skinned." I gulped my beer.

"I dunno, Mike. Turns my stomach them lookin' like snakes." 

"Hear it tastes like fishy chicken." I dumped our catch into the bathtub.

"Everything strange tastes like chicken. When I was a kid, we ate us some rattlesnake. Taste's like an ole fat hen, my daddy says."

"It didn't?"

"Naw. Tasted like snake." Doug eyed the tub. "What's next? Becky will be home soon and she's gonna want a bath after a long day on her feet. I'm thinkin' we cook 'em up quick like while she's in the tub. She'll never know she's eatin' eel."

Becky is Doug's knockout bride. I'm jealous but, hey, some guys get all the luck. "John says the easy way to skin 'em is nail their head to a tree and cut..."

"Whoa, Mike. Where do we get us a tree?"

"I dunno. We need to think logical and come up with sumpin." I accepted the offered beer for brain stimulation and looked about. The bathroom had two doors, one opened into the bedroom and the other into the kitchen where you entered the apartment.

"I've got it, Mike! I'll grab us some newspaper, nails and a hammer. You grab an eel and bring it on in."

Catchin' a slippery eel ain't easy. I figured the chemicals in the town water would've doped 'em and slowed 'em. My clothes dripped by the time I proved that theory wrong. I sloshed a trail of water into the living room with the delicacy danglin' in my hand.

Doug had the newspapers spread over the rug. "Any stains will blend right in with the barn board wall. You hold 'em, while I nail 'em."

"Okay, but don't hit nuthin' but his head."

The eel weren't none too happy with the situation. His brain weren't in his head neither 'cause he flopped some after Doug nailed 'em.

"John says we need to make a cut around the neck and the skin'll pull right off." I set to work, made the cut and started tuggin'. "I'm beginnin' to wonder if John knows what he's talkin' bout. It ain't easy strippin' an eel. When I'm done here, we chop it and throw it in the pan to fry. You gotta do that part. I ain't no good at cookin'."

I had the skin hangin' over the tail, when a screech blasted my eardrums. I dropped the knife. "Do eels scream?"

Doug slapped his head. "Oh, no, Mike, Becky strips in the bedroom and goes in for a bath."

At first, I didn't get it. Then Becky came stormin' into the room, took one look at the danglin' eel and let loose again.

Women sure know how to put a damper on things. We never did get a chance to eat eel, and Doug spent the night a mile outta town sleepin' on my floor.

Can't say I didn't learn sumpin'. A naked Becky beats a naked eel any day. I'm thinkin' I gotta do this again, but I have to go fishin' alone. Doug's in a whole peck of trouble and he ain't ever gettin' the fishy smell outta that wood.

Donna Jones lives and writes in the beautiful state of Vermont in the United States with her husband, children and pets.

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The Flashers page is edited by Les Stephenson 

September 2009