"Fishes for Her Supper," a flash fiction, just came out in Eastern Iowa Review. Here's a link to the page: http://www.portyonderpress.com/tamra-plotnick---fishes-for-her-supper.html, and here is a link to the full list of contributors for EASTERN IOWA REVIEW, ISSUE 12 - "WATER".
FISHES FOR HER SUPPER
A sour smell, almost oily. She knew the fish' be up soon. That always made Old Nathan titter and snicker till her laughter echoed in splashes against the sides of the rowboat and set it rocking, a cradle in the sea's fumbling hands. She'd have to arch her thick torso over itself till the breasts clung to belly, arms to oarlocks; and think no tip, no tip. Damn them, she'd yell, and buckle her lips between a clenched jaw. Those fish always told the damndest tales; and she'd never believe a word of them. They'd say how minnows chipped at whales till nothing was left but bones. And all the sea beasts gathered between rib and jaw to cackle and burble over the stingray who tried to make lines in the sea floor, calling herself an artist. Everyone looked down their gills and tentacles at her. Except the electric eel who zipped from tooth to tailfin preparing for flight, which he thought would come soon with enough speed and plankton. Old Nathan let them yap, testing herself. But then the fish would invite her down for a visit. That's when she'd chop off their heads with one swipe of a kitchen knife. Fools. She thought fish more sensible than that. But it must be the bay, which was the only place she fished. And fish there daily she did.