Hooked
 The sun was beating a tattoo right in the middle of Jack’s bald patch and reluctantly he shifted into the sparse shade of a young oak.  He closed his eyes, savouring the silence.  What a relief to be away from the constant nagging of his wife - what had she called him this morning?  A useless slug - that was it.   A warm breeze blew a waft of elderflower towards him and he relaxed.  This was the life!   Even better, it was a Sunday which meant no bullying boss, obviously sharing his wife’s convictions, and no cocky workmates such as bloody Harry, forever bragging about his house, car, kids – you name it. Luckily, Harry was on holiday (shark fishing in South Africa) but still Jack dreaded his return, him and his raucous voice.  Here, there was nothing to listen to but the sighing of the wind and the buzz of insects going about their business.  There was absolutely nothing to worry about, not even the fish because he didn’t expect to catch anything.  He opened his eyes a trifle and peered at the oily expanse of pond lying passively at his feet, its grey-green surface inert except for an occasional burp of gas.   The pond had been fished out years ago, even before the water had been poisoned by the nearby chemical factory.  Jack’s rod and line were just for show.

               
His mind drifted serenely until it reached a familiar road-block that not even the peace of the countryside could shift.  He wondered if his wife realised he’d sussed her shenanigans with Bill next door.   He’d first suspected it when she started tarting herself up just to mow the lawn.  To be honest, he didn’t really care.   Idly he wondered if there was some way he could turn the situation to his advantage.   There probably was, but an excess of sun had made his brain muzzy.  Anyway, she’d be bound to make a fuss and Jack decided it wasn’t worth the bother.  Plus, there was Joyce, Bill’s wife.   Jack liked Joyce and wouldn’t want to upset her.  He settled himself more comfortably and closed his eyes again.            Suddenly, there was a tug on his line.   Not just a little one either, quite a big tug.   A bite?  Couldn’t be - line must have got caught in something.  He got up to investigate and as he did, something reared up in front of him - something enormous, something green, something with scales that glittered as they caught the eye of the sun.   For the first time in his life, Jack felt terror as he stared at the fish-like creature looming over him.   Particularly, he noticed its great gaping mouth that opened as it caught sight of him.   It was pure instinct that made Jack grab his rod, he heaved on it and obligingly the fish drew nearer.  Realising his mistake, Jack turned and tried to flee but his feet caught in the line and he fell.   Immediately, the fish gulped and swallowed Jack whole, along with his rod and line.    Round and round Jack plunged headfirst, spinning down the fish’s slimy gullet until at last he landed with a squelch into what he imagined was its stomach.   He stood up and rubbed his head.   ‘This is a turn up’ he thought.   The cavernous space was dimly lit by an opalescent pink glow and as Jack’s eyes adjusted they started to roam.   Plastic straws, plastic cups, plastic carrier bags, its stomach was littered with the stuff and just as Jack was beginning to feel sorry for the fish, he saw something that totally astonished him.   A half-digested jacket was caught in the folds of mucosa and it was a jacket that Jack recognised, even though it was mostly covered in slime.  There was the faux leather along with the epaulettes and club badges that Harry was always boasting about.   After astonishment, Jack’s next feeling was one of outrage.   The liar!   He’d said he was going to South Africa!  Then, despondency blanked out both emotions as Jack realised that, if there was an afterlife, he was going to have to spend it with Harry.   Gloomily, he tugged a KFC box free from a loop of muscle and sat down   This obviously irritated the fish because it gave an enormous belch and a torrent of greasy water flooded down its oesophagus swirling around Jack, picking him up and swiftly ejecting him out of the creature’s mouth.    
 
Dazed, he lay sprawled on the bank and watched as the fish disappeared back into the oily depths.  It seemed there were advantages in being a slug, even fishes couldn’t stomach him.   He watched as the scummy water settled.   Surely, it hadn’t been a dream.  He hadn’t fallen asleep, he was certain of it.   He tried to get up and failed.  Looking down, he saw that a gelatinous mess covered his shoes, anchoring him to the ground.  After an hour of scraping himself clean, Jack was certain it had been no dream.
 
 As he trudged homewards, Jack wondered if there were some way he could persuade his wife to visit the pond.   Perhaps it would be better to speak to Bill and, during the conversation, casually mention that it was her favourite place.   He perked up, that might work but then there was still the problem of his boss…..
 
 
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