Trophy Wife

As with most any woman, I doubt I was the one she would have chosen to be reeled in by. She did not see me from across some crowded room and feel a magnetic pull, or get struck by a lightning bolt. Rather we were thrown together by happy accident, or maybe not so much an accident. Let me explain.

You see, I caught her.

In all the wide world, and in all of the deep oceans upon it, she and I were brought together by destiny; she happening upon an irresistible morsel during her northward migration, I with pole in hand upon a secluded, vacation shoreline.

I pulled her from the water with a mere 40lb. test, proving that we were meant to be, as she was easily heavy enough to break the line’s tenuous hold if so inclined. I carried her onto the beach, lying her gently down in the white sand where I brushed the dark hair away from her wild, frightened eyes whilst simultaneously removing the hook with the tenderest of fingers, not wanting to scar the sensuous beauty of her lips.

She resigned herself then, giving in to my manliness, giving herself over as I whispered sweet nothings and stroked her with gentle fingers while she gasped, her lungs straining at the unfamiliar air. I rolled her onto her side, allowing the seawater an escape. Her body spasmed as the dark water lurched from her lungs, staining the sand. With her eyes away my fingers felt for and found the knife in my belt. I raised it above her, pummeling the shafted end fatally into the back of her head, but the first blow did not take, and a merciful second was unfortunately required.

Her body stiff and still I picked carried her through the deep sand to the station on the pier where I could test her weight, and get a souvenir photo. Surely she was some kind of island record. And beside the station was a taxidermist, where the sexier half of her would be forever shellacked to a wood plaque for hanging above the mantle at home.

Oh, Pooky-Bear was not going to be happy with this trophy.