The fish story

Naomi Wallace

pp. 271-274

in: Scott T. Cummings, Erica Stevens Abbitt (eds), The theatre of Naomi Wallace, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2013

Abstract

It was almost like they knew they were going to be crucified. First they would lie still on your palm, as though dead. Only a slight tremor, at one end or the other, gave their trick away. It was this moment. This moment of calm right before it happened, that I liked most, when their tender, fleshy bodies, studded with black dirt, would lay in my hand like the trust of an old friend. At seven years old, that glistening body of plumped worminess was more beautiful to me than any … (Breaks off.)