Lemonfish

by Nicole Elizabeth

He drew the lemon fish in black ink first. Pushing the napkin across the table, he cleared his throat trying to return her eyes to his. She sighed, lowering the paper and motioned for the pen. She circled the lemonfish, coloring in its fruit-body contours, where its fins met the peel, and made it a plumper, rounder head. Moonfish, she wrote under it, and passed the napkin back over the table.

He elongated the torso horizontally, lining between the box, drawing slices. Breadfish, he wrote.

"Did you turn off the coffee pot?" He asked, standing to retrieve their bagel orders.

She looked at the drawing for a moment and then at the way his shoulders leaned forward over the counter while he asked for extra napkins. She picked up the pen and held it in her hand, considering how the weight felt in her palm, how cool the smooth hard surface was to the touch. She sketched downward and when he returned, softly moved the napkin toward his left corner of the table. Breadtree the caption read. He bit into the sandwich, thinking for a moment and picked up the pen. He sketched lines coming down from the tree, a seat at the rope. Treeswing he wrote.

She swallowed tea and penned tiny feet dangling from the swing.

And so it was, they began to draw the world.

© 2008 Night Train and respective authors/email support AT nighttrainmagazine.com