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backs get thrown in with the crabs, and plenty of bad ones get taken home by smiling little gods with ribbons in their hair. As he was thinking this, a smiling little god made her way to the front of the tank. Soon, the net of the gods entered the sickening sanctum of the golden backs. They swam in a constant confusion. Some in fear of the net, screaming and crying, older golden-back attempting to charge into the net in hopes to protect the younger, some charging straight for it. But him? He just sat there. He would not play this game. He would sit, he would shit, he would eat, and he would die. Living his life in the box until the drifts and the waves carried his body to its surface.

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2017 Freshwater Literary Journal  
2017 Freshwater Literary Journal  

Professional literary journal produced at Asnuntuck Community College

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