Farcry:2

Thanks for reading! As the name implies, there is a first part to this, so feel free to check that out  as well :)

His father is thrilled when he sees the little fish in the basin meant for washing, crouches above the water with his son's same catlike quality. “

You know, once, Naz,” he says, “We did not live beside the water.” Many of his stories start this way, tracking to a time that his son nor he himself had ever known. Naz settles into a stool at the table nearby to listen, kneading his knees. “Our people…” Papi dips his finger into the water, sending the fish scurrying away, circling, circling. “Our people were not fishers. We are not meant to stay still like the clay beds, waiting patiently for our livings to creep up to us.”

“We were hunters,” Naz says, because he knows this part.

“That’s right, we were hunters. When we needed food-“ Papi flutters his hand, and sparks of water fly up from the basin. “we grabbed it—“ “Out of the air.” “Right out of the air. We saw birds on the horizon, we snatched them by their wings before they could blink their eyes, and we ate them before the life was gone out of them, and that life swirled in us till the day we died. And--"

"Alive?" Naz interrupts, eyes widening. He did not know this part.

"The only way to gain their soul was to suck all out from their hearts before it leaked out. Otherwise it would escape. And we-" "Not us," Naz said, shaking his head away from the image of his father, his gentle, bright-eyed father, with a bloody, flapping bird halfway into his throat. "Not you. Or Mami."

"No, not Mami," Papi repeats, smiling softly at his son, who has her eyes. "Mami has earth person in her, remember. Her soul is big enough for herself." He brushes his hands off on greying pants, and begins unwrapping the glinting fish that he'd caught this morning. "Roasted or boiled?"

"Roasted," Naz says, because he does not want to walk to the well for water.

"We, you and I, we are always hungry," Papi continues, bending near the entrance to the house for the roasting twigs. "Always looking for a little more life to keep inside of us." He skewers the fish swiftly without a sound, painlessly. "I'm going to go outside, build the fire. Get the matches for me?"

Naz is happy. He likes when his father says we, like one could possibly compare to the other. He nods, and begins fishing through the things in the hut. He can never find anything, even in such a sparse room as theirs, and having to crouch to check the low places is not making it easier. He finally finds the matches nestled, cozier than he remembers being, in a coarse pile of fabric that may be one day be a net, or a dress for his sister, or perhaps bodybag, but right now is just an oversized match sweater. Naz tries to refold it after its vandalism, but finds he is unable to and instead arranges it in an artful, if creased, loop under the table where he found it.

He eyes his fish at the window, now just a fuzzy bruise in the moon of the dim basin. Perhaps it is wary, perhaps it could one day become a big, black elder.

The only way to gain their soul was to suck all out from their hearts...

No.

The fish is small, so small, and he grasps it with his bare hands,and he crams it, wriggling crazily, in his mouth He swallows with his eyes closed for the vain notion that the black in front of his eyes would also hush the tickle crawly feeling banging his throat.

It is cold for a long time inside him, and a long time he stands there, trying to feel a difference. Is his heart fuller now? Is the fish swimming around and around inside him still, guiding him, adding to him?

He doesn't feel like it. He feels a little nauseous and still very hungry-- it had been a very small fish.

When he comes back outside, his father has a fire built already, and smiles readily.

Handing Papi the matches, bracing for the rare shock of pride, he asks "Papi, couldn't you just eat a fish, like the birds, and gain their souls too?"

"Good question."Papi trades a skewered fish for the matches. "What do you see when you see this?" he prompts. This does not sound like a question with many answers, so Naz studies it and searches for the right one.

The mouth is open, it is a slimy and cold thing, and the twig sticks through an oozing eye. It is still staring at him, in that cold, shocked way.

Naz's heart drops. In his mind's eye, he sees the little fish in in his stomach, swimming around and around it, looking for a crevice to hide in and only finding smooth acid walls. "Fear."

"You don't want that soul inside you, dear," Papi says. "That would be very bad for you." He lights a match and the fire meets him easily, like a friend.

The cold is still inside Naz, though, long after it warms his face and dries the black mud all over him, to chip off slowly reveal a wet, frightful creature inside.