“I’m not done with you.”Browny, with knife in hand, he leapt onto Clyde’s back forcing them to their knees as rivers of blood spilled from Clyde’s forehead.
Clyde howled at the blinding pain wriggling deeper into his skull and fought free, staggering into the pathway of fleeing onlookers gripping their smartphones.
“Get back here.” Browny limped, wiping sweat on his blood splattered t-shirt. The knife’s blade glinted in the dying sunlight.
“NOOOOooooo….” Clyde stumbled and crawled across the grass, but was held back by an invisible line tangled around his throat. He clawed at his neck, while scales stuck to skin and slime slapped across his face.
“Put the knife down, son,” shouted the approaching Policeman palming his hipped gun holster as sirens screeched in the background.
“Help me,” moaned Clyde with outstretched bloodied hand.
“HOLY Shh- What happened?”
“Clyde caught that catfish. But it just flew right outta the ocean still attached to’ it’s fishin’ line,” pointing to the wet tailed, face slapping, catfish, spiked in the centre of Clyde’s forehead. “But I can’t catch the fisherman to get rid of the fish he just caught.”
An exageration of a true story where everyone survived – except the fish.