Below the surface of a deep blue crest of a wave, a thin little silver light glistens. A trailing fin follows and scales shimmer together as the fish wiggles through the water. Bouncing bubbles pop as a mouth puckers. The waves above jostle the fish to the side. His coin eyes follow an orange reflection. Intrigued, he whips his tale and meanders up through the flowing currents.

            The fish had never seen an orange peel before. It didn’t look like seaweed, sand or coral. Head pops up to retrieve a tiny taste of something soft yet crisp, sweet but tainted by the scent of smoky salt water. He ponders, quietly whisking a quick circle. Going with the current, then out again. His silky body falters for a second when the tide is with him, and before he knows it he is being swept, up, up, higher than he has ever been before. Out from the deep, he flops, borne mid-air for a split second before landing in a sun-dried, torn up, half of an orange peel.

            The fish lies motionless. The now rough edges of the peel are rotten, the orange color faded to a murky brown. Mouth gapes, gasps for a breath of cool water. But there’s non for him now. Only the sour air from the discarded orange peel.