Georgina Head

This was their place. Air warm and smelly around the two of them; the familiar commixture of just-caught tuna and sea salt reminded them of home. Their father was a fisherman himself, and their mother taught them how to skin and debone fish before they could even speak full sentences. They sat in a comfortable silence. Only the pang of another tuna head or tail hitting the pale marked the minutes passed. They worked in tandem, two actors performing an over-rehearsed duologue: Joni ripped, Parus sliced, Joni passed the head. “What?” he said, when Parus missed his cue. “I’m leaving, tonight.”

Seed by Georgina Head. Image by Claudine Doury.

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