There is no way that Fish likes Cake

DRAFT: Final Draft

There is no way that Fish likes Cake

Unless it does, in which case, you should give it some—for the sake of science

The day was bright and hot and only about halfway through. Ash held a muddy arm to her face to block the sun and squinted, legs spread wide to brace herself in the face of a harsh wind that had been sweeping through. Clouds of dirt billowed past, stinging her bare legs, and the field rippled like vast green waves in dire need of a good weed whacker. A dirt road coiled around the hill on which she stood, lazily making its way back into town. Going in the opposite direction, it stopped at the muddy shores of a small lake. The lake was caked in thickly stacked clods of dirt packed in tight rings as if the lake used to be bigger, but was shrinking daily.
Ash looked back at the water, baked brown like the land around it—it rippled gently—Ben was splashing around in the shallow part, leaving dark splatters across the cracked, dry banks. Ash had been sent to be a lookout for adults on the hilltop, but nobody ever came down the road anymore and she wanted to get back to the lake. The wind was drying the dark mud plastered to her arm into a light dust that itched more with each second. She decided to go back down the hill, sliding down the steeper parts—she didn’t use the road because it would be easier and therefore not as fun. She got to the bottom of the hill to find her path blocked off by a shirtless Ben. His arms were packed with the whipcord muscles of youth.

“You’re supposed to be the lookout—you’re not looking out.” His skin was caked in mud, but where it didn’t cover, red sunburn welts were already showing.

“Nobody uses that road nomore anyways. And you told me that you’d let me play in tha’ lake,” Ash crossed her skinny arms against her chest and stood with her dirty, ragged dress flapping in the breeze like a forgotten flag. “Sam gets to play in the lake. Why can’t I?”

“’Cause you’re a girl and I don’t let girls play in my lake.” Ben pushed Ash with both hands and she tumbled into the hillside with a dry, grassy thwump. Before Ben could turn around and walk away, Ash was up on her feet and she lashed her fist across his face with a quick, fierce motion; Ben stumbled back, cupped his face in his hands as he growled something too muffled to understand, and when he pulled his hands away, bright red blood was pooled in his palms—a crimson lake, dripping slowly like a fountain down to the dry earth. The blood splashed and intermingled with the crusty dirt, was churned into it with the stomping of his bare feet.

“What was that for?” He looked horrified, bloody hands shaking as he held them out for protection—his lips shimmered with the flow of fresh blood. Ash kept coming though: she punched him in the face again before pounding into his soft belly. She threw him into the muddy lake with a fierce grunt. It was at this point that Sam noticed something was going horribly wrong and, as was normal, proved himself to be a bit slow on the uptake.

“What are y’doing?” Sam looked positively befuddled. He just stared at Ash and Ben as sharp, bony elbows and tiny clenched fists hammered into Ben’s flailing body. The muddy water was churned into a frenzy. “Are y’fightin’ or somethin’?”

It was about this time that a rather large, black fish poked his head above the water in the center of the lake. Ben and Ash didn’t notice because Ben was too busy trying to keep his head above water, and Ash was too busy trying to keep Ben from keeping his head above the water. Sam noticed though. He looked out over the small, choppy waves, and saw the fish swimming towards the group with his matte black scales and his face that seemed to form a small smile. Even though Sam was slow on the uptake, he managed to remember that fish could not smile and that perhaps he was imagining the smile in the first place. However, the fish kept coming, and so he thought he should probably say something to the group.

“Hey, whatever you’re doing, that fish is swimming right for you. It’s creepin’ me out.” Ash stopped mid-swing to see a large black fish swimming straight for her. She stood up, wet dress sloughing off water, the fabric sticking to her thin, bony legs. Ben wobbled to his feet trying to steady himself by grabbing onto Ash, but she shoved him and he stumbled before regaining balance and standing up. He stared at the fish as bright red blood continued to pour down his face. The fish was still smiling and swimming, but as it approached them, its mouth began to open and close with slight pop noises and the kids began to back away. The fish finally stopped a couple feet from them before he spoke, startling Ben into falling over again as he tried to get away.

“Hi,” Said the fish in a deep, but cheery voice.

“You’re a fish.” Sam had spoken his disbelief and even though he had known of the fish’s existence long before the others, he still had difficulty grasping the magnitude of a talking fish.

“I am a fish,” The fish agreed. He spoke simply, but when he did so, the water rippled around him and Ash could swear the breeze picked up. She stared at him for a few seconds before she had the courage to ask him something.

“How d’you talk?” She leaned forward as if to make sure her senses were not deceiving her.

“Same way you do. Except I can speak the future.” The fish splashed the water lazily with a pointed fin. Ben still sat where he had fallen, dazed, but he managed to get back on his feet and pose his own question.

“If you can tell the future, what will I be when I grow up?” he sneered at the fish who turned a lazy, unblinking eye to Ben.

“A failure,” stated the fish.

“Oh yeah, well what do you know? You’re a fish!”

“And what do you know? You didn’t know a fish could talk until just a few minutes ago,” Ben was taken aback. “You’re just angry that a girl beat you up and that she’ll beat you up again soon.” Ash cracked her knuckles at the mention of this. Her long hair fluttered in the breeze. The ends dripped tiny water droplets into the air.

“When do I beat ‘im up?” Ash continued cracking her knuckles as she asked the question, giving a menacing glare at Ben.

“Right about the time he punches you in the back of the head,” The fish seemed to be getting bored of the questions presented to him. “I think I’ll stop taking questions now.” He began to swim away, but stopped when he heard the expected objection.

“Wait! Y’can’t go. I want to know more!” Ash yelled all this as she wadded deeper into the brown lake. Ben followed, but Sam stood in place.

“My lake will soon dry up and I will die. Get me something to make me enjoy my final days in my lake, and I’ll answer all your questions. As many as you want.” He dipped below the surface and didn’t come back up. Ben and Ash stared at the ripples as they spread out from the last known location of the fish. Disappointed, they headed back to the shore. When they were almost back to Sam, Ben slipped on the muddy bottom and fell. He reached out for Ash, grabbed her hair. And instead of balancing himself, he took her down with him as he fell. When Ash had regained her bearings, she turned sharply to see a mortified Ben.

“NO! I didn’t—” but it was too late. He already had a face full of fist. Sam stood by, watching, but out the way. He would occasionally try to interject his disapproval, but Ash didn’t listen—she was too busy flailing her arms with vengeful fury and Ben was too busy trying to stand up so he could run away.

It was much later, when the three kids were sitting around a campfire in the setting sun. Ash was continually turning like she was a hunk of meat on a spit, trying to dry her dress. The humidity made it difficult to breathe at times. Sam was relaxed against a tree near the fire, humming a song that sounded a bit off-key. Ben was glaring at Ash.

“I don’t like you very much,” growled Ben. Ash stopped her spinning. The fire glinted faintly in her eyes and outlined her in an intense orange. The sunset stacked its pink hues across her lithe body and she looked for a moment like an image of the Painted Desert. A smile cracked her face open to reveal her sharp canines.

“Nice black eye. Wher’d you get it?” Ben turned away, hiding his battered face.

“Shuttup,” he mumbled. Ash continued her spinning.

“What are we going to get that fish, anyway?” Ash was still spinning as she asked the question.

“Shuttup. That fish was stupid. I didn’t even punch you in the back of the head.”

“Did too.”

“Shuttup. I fell. I grabbed your hair. I didn’t punch you.”

“Y’fell? Yeah, right.” Ash’s lilting giggles filled the air like a swarm of butterflies.

“I said shuttup! Don’t you know what that means? It means shuttup!” Ben had enough. Silent tears streamed down his face as his clenched fists shook. “Shuttup, Shut up! It’s just a stupid fish! Fish can’t talk and they can’t tell the future!” Sam looked up from his position at the tree trunk.

“Calm down, what’s wrong?” He stood up on his sturdy legs and went over to Ben. He seemed to be at a loss as to what to do, so after some deliberation, he awkwardly held his arms out to hug his friend.

“What’re you doing? Get away from me, you freak!” Ben shoved Sam with everything he had—Sam fell to the ground with a grunt and stayed there, staring at Ben as if he had only just seen him for the first time. “I’m tired of you two! I’m tired! Leave me alone, I never want to speak to either of you ever again!” Ben wandered off into the black shade of the trees. The sun sank below the horizon, and he didn’t return. Sam and Ash didn’t talk. They sat as the fire creaked and popped slowly.

They slept on opposite sides of the fire that night. Ash kept looking up at the trees, etched golden brown by the flames until they receded into darkness—it reminded her of a cave. Sleep didn’t come very quickly or very easily for either of them and the flames had died down to smoldering embers by the time Ash fell asleep. Her last glance at the world before sleep took her was of the trees above, now gently etched in crimson around the edges, receding into a darkness blacker than pitch, like the eye of Satan glared down on her from above.

Sam and Ash awoke with the sunrise—an ability that seems unique to youth. They quickly found Ben not ten steps from the outside of camp, curled into a ball and sleeping. They woke him up and as he rose, he seemed to be pretending that nothing had happened the night before because he was relatively cheery for the early hour.

“So… what are we gonna’ get th’fish?” Ash asked pointedly.

“I heard that fish like cake—maybe we could get some cake.” Sam looked hopeful as he talked about the cake.

“It’s just a fish. His lake is dryin’ up. He’s a loser.” Ben said the last sentence with such conviction that he bit his tongue in the process, but he didn’t let the others know. The taste of copper coated his tongue. He spat and kicked the hot ashes from the last night’s fire fiercely with a bare, calloused foot, scattering them harmlessly. He didn’t flinch when hot coals leapt up to nip his bare legs.

“We can bake a cake at my house,” Ash finally said. The three set out through the woods to Ash’s house. The house was several hours in the opposite direction of the lake, through thick briars and across a few rivers. They had to wade through a creek or two, helping Ben across, who sunk his foot into a particularly deep hole in one of the creeks. He screamed and thrashed until Ash and Sam pulled him out, but wouldn’t admit he was ever stuck afterwards. Finally, Ben—tired and angry—stopped walking.

“How much farther?” hot sweat poured down his face and his pants were cold and wet from the creek that he had not fallen into.

“Shuttup,” intoned Ash, mimicking Ben’s grouchy voice. “Stop bein’ a baby. It’s not far.” Sam chuckled silently to himself and the group set off again in the direction of Ash’s house.

Ash’s house was in a clearing, on top of a hill. Wildflowers grew all around and the sunlight seemed warmer and sweeter the closer they got to the house. The smell of honeysuckle came with each cool breeze. Soon, the trio arrived at the door to Ash’s house and she opened the big, green door without unlocking it. A mailbox next to the door read “Ashley” in red letters.

Inside, the walls were covered in chalk, paint, and pen work. Clothes littered the floor. They could see into the living room from the doorway, and splashed up on the back wall was a huge monster, splattered in black paint. The ribs were open, revealing the black bones beneath and a bright red heart dripping blood. The beast’s tongue dangled down past its chest and came to a point. Short-cropped horns poked out of its head and its red eyes bore down on a small fuzzy kitten done in white chalk pastel. The monster was labeled in loose, sketchy pen work: Shibb-Sharb.

“Don’t mind the mess. I haven’t cleaned in a while.” Ash stepped directly on her clothes as she walked down the hallway and disappeared into the last doorway before the hallway opened into the living room. Sam and Ben stood speechless. The quietness of the inside of the house made it seem like a sanctuary after the incessant chirping of birds and bugs outside. The house was cold too compared to outside. There was something serene and protective about the house, even though all the windows were thrown wide open and paint splatters filled every inch of the floors—even the carpet. Ben and Sam slowly followed Ash into her kitchen. She was wearing a frayed apron with a painting of what appeared to be a black rat’s head with sharp white teeth.

“What’s that on your apron?” Sam asked while pointing.

“Sarcophilus harrisii,” Ash murmured as she slid a book over to Sam without looking and opened up a cook book. Sam couldn’t read the first line, and so he handed it to Ben, who groaned, but read anyway.

“Sarcophilus harrisii—commonly called Tasmanian Devil…” Ben read. He looked over at the apron and then up to Ash’s face, twisted in concentration. She read from the cook book.
“1 cup white sugar, ½ cup butter, 2 eggs, 2 teaspoons vanilla extract, 1 ½ cups all-purpose flour, 1 ¾ teaspoons baking powder, ½ cup milk. I have all of that.” She turned to Sam. “Y’sure fishes like cake?” He nodded. He seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable in Ash’s house, but she was too busy whisking a bowl with harsh strikes to notice anyone backing away from her or their mortified expressions. She threw a pan full of batter into the oven when she was done. She clapped her hands together, flour dust rising and billowing.

“We hafta’ wait until the cake’s done. S’now what?” She looked to Ben and Sam, but they didn’t say anything. She crossed her arms tightly and continued to look from one to the other. When neither one of them talked, she finally gestured for the boys to follow her; she went out to the living room, and then out the living room window.

Outside, Ben found his voice again.

“I don’t know why you’re making a cake. Fish don’t even eat cake. How’re you even going to get it back to him?”

“I’ll carry it.”

“You’ll drop it.”

“I’ve never dropped a cake before.”

“Have you ever had to cross a river with a cake?” Ash stopped talking for a second at this question. “Didn’t think so,” said Ben.

“What if we put it in a box?” asked Sam. Ben and Ash looked over at Sam—Ash with a grin, and Ben with a deep scowl.

“That’s stupid. You’re stupid. Fish don’t like cake.” Ben glared at Ash. “They don’t,” He added for emphasis.

“D’you have a better plan?” Ash put her hands on her hips and took a menacing step closer to Ben. This time, Ben didn’t step down. He looked down at the Tasmanian devil apron that she still wore, and then up to her eyes—they shimmered like rubies in a pirate’s chest.

“Yeah—leave the stupid fish. It’s just a fish. Your house is creepy. I’m leaving.” He stood up to leave, but Sam blocked his path.

“Don’t you want to know the future?” Ben paused for a moment, seeming to have problems deciding if he wanted to know the future or not, but then he remembered his boasts. He sneered.

“Fish can’t tell the future.” Sam grabbed him as he tried to leave.

“Please—don’t leave me with her,” He pleaded in a whisper. Ben looked into Sam’s eyes for a second before breaking his gaze and nodding his head in a defeated fashion. He walked back over to the house and sat down with his back propped against an outer wall. After some time, Ash sprang up from the grass.

“The cake is done!” She dived straight through the window to get back into her house. She came back out with a steaming cake in a box. Sam looked pleased, but Ben still sat against the house. The sun was shining overhead, and as Ash came and joined the boys, it went behind a large puffy cloud, casting a shadow on the hilltop.

“Looks sorta’ like a raincloud,” Sam stated simply.

“It never rains here but it snows sometimes—in the winter,” Ash stated matter-of-factly as she stared up at the sky. Her pale skin was covered in shadow, giving her eyes a sunken, purpled look.

“We should head back to th’lake before it gets dark,” she said this as she looked back up at the sky again. The trio headed down the hill, looking back on the cheery house and admiring the smell of honeysuckle. Ash held the box of cake close to her bony chest as they moved into the woods. Ben grumbled to himself about fish not liking cake as they crossed the creek that he had never once fallen into. Thick clouds came rolling in while they were about an hour away from the lake, and it began to make the scenery darker and harder to distinguish.

The group trudged on as the sky opened up and began to pour thick raindrops. They began leaving deep footprints in the mud. Ash shivered as her nearly fatless body was wracked with cold rain but Sam showed no signs of noticing any precipitation. Eventually, they came to a log bridge. Ben went first, followed by Ash. Ben was busy trying not to slip on the wet moss, but to no avail: he began teetering back and forth, flailing his arms wildly. Ash tried to back up, but Ben knocked the cake box out of her hands, and it fell into the river. Ben regained his balance and looked over at Ash. She was livid.

“Go get it,” She managed to work out before rage choked her voice off. Ben groaned and took a dive into the river and tried to swim fast enough to get the box. The current was fierce in the rain, and he had a hard time avoiding rocks. Eventually, the box drifted out of sight, and he had to pull himself up on shore, dripping wet and cold. Sam and Ash joined him.

“I couldn’t swim fast enough. I couldn’t do it.” His words came out in ragged panting sounds. With the day mostly gone, and the rain coming down harder than ever, the group had no choice but to make camp for the night.

The fire was warm even though the temperatures were dropping. Ash sat, staring. She kept an eye on Ben, eyes squinted to show her anger. The only sound that could be heard was the soft buzzing of insects and the popping of the fire. It would have sounded warm and inviting if it had not been for the clear tension in the air.

“The fish was right. You’re a failure,” puffed Ash.

“Fishes can’t tell the future.” Ben growled as he hugged himself to try and keep warm. The river had been colder than he expected. They were silent for some time, listening to the sounds of the woods and the sounds of the fire.

“I heard once that what makes a boy into a man is when a boy owns up to his mistakes and fixes them best as he knows how.” Sam interrupted the quietness with a shaky voice. Ben looked over at Sam with contempt in his eyes before he lay down on the damp earth and turned over—away from Sam and Ash. Again, the only sound was the snapping of the fire. Ash looked up. This night, the trees held a different pattern than last time—the red-orange trees receded into twin pits of darkness like a set of eyes peering down through hellfire. Ash turned over and fell into an uneasy sleep.

With the cold, damp morning came the realization that Ben was gone. Ash shook Sam awake who immediately grasped the severity of the situation and got up to help look for Ben. They tumbled through underbrush and through bushes. They climbed trees to try and find Ben, but as the hours ticked by, they became increasingly disheartened. Finally, Sam suggested they go to the lake because maybe Ben had gone there. With no other options, Ash agreed and smiled at Sam’s simplicity.

They finally broke out of the tree line and saw the lake bed—it was completely dried out. The cracked, grey earth seemed warped like the sagging flesh of an elephant. What had been the outer edges of the lake were almost black now. The sun beat down on the lake bed relentlessly and the wind roared its fury, sending shivers down the long grass all around the hill country as far as the eye could see. In the center of the lake, there was a lone figure, crouched down. It was Ben—shirtless, barefoot, and looking at something on the ground.

Ash got to him first. Sam ran about as quickly as he thought. When she got up to him, there it was—the matte black fish lying in a red puddle in the center of the lake bed. The dry earth was already hungrily sucking the blood in. Ash stood there until Sam caught up. Ben stood up on his feet, looked Ash straight in the eye.

“Fish can’t tell the future.”

“Is that all y’do? Y’just push people around? Kill fish?”

“If that fish knew the future so well, how come I killed it?” his fingers were dusted with small amounts of dried blood.

“That’s not how you fix your mistakes.” Sam looked again as though he had only just at that moment seen Ben.

“You’re both stupid. I’m th’one that doesn’t listen to talking fish.” Ben said this with his now characteristic sneer.

Ash was at her limit. She screamed and the last thing Ben saw before he passed out was a tangled mass of hair and two glinting eyes blazing into his soul. He fell into the pool of still-warm blood—the cracked dry earth accepted him hungrily, just as it had already accepted the fish. Two red, glaring eyes bore down on him from above, but they were surrounded by long, matted locks. The eyes receded into blackness more complete than any since before the Earth was born.