Friday Fictioneers: Life After Wartime

Took a break from The Dire-Man for something new.

Copyright - Douglas M. MacIlroy

Dad was never the same after the Atlantis War.

He kept his helmet on at all times, just in case the water level rose again and we were submerged. He only ate fish, every bite being like a little chewy victory, he said.

When Co-President Guppy came on the telly he would throw his hands up in despair, ‘We’re just giving the world away to the fin-backs!’ and my mum would shush him.

‘We’re at peace with them now, George, set a good example for the kids.’

‘You’re a goddamn fish-ist, woman!’ He would say around a mouthful of cod.    

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Another Friday Fictioneers story with prompt supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

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