Fiction: Group 4
I walked over to Lee Ho. He was having a debate with a costumer. “This fish is very hard to find nowadays.
It is a perfectly clean fish,” Lee Ho uttered. The same question kept slipping in my mind, where did he get
it? I gathered up my courage and decided to go forward and ask him. Before I could say anything, he saw
me and walked away. He didn’t even greet me. Lee Ho and I have been friends since I could remember.
Our fathers were good friends, and would teach us how to fish every morning, together. Lee Ho was a very
quiet and kind hearted person with a calm personality. He was always respectful and obedient. But today it
seemed as though something wasn’t right.
I continued walking to his stall, even though he wasn’t there, and saw the numerous amounts of fish lying
there silently on the table. Fish painted with different shades of silver and grey, showing no sign of stains or
chemicals. Where did he get all this fish? My view was then blocked by a small, tiny map that looked as
though it had been found over fifty years ago. Its colour was a dirty brown, with red lines decorating it.
“This is the key to the fish,” whispered Lee Ho.
