Every photo has a story:
It wasn’t just any day. It was the end. But pay close attention. The picture misleads as to the real sequence of events. In that instant, a hand with a minnow over the sand of a Portuguese beach describes salvation, fortune, destiny, and tragedy. Let me explain myself. You’re a a fish, and suddenly, you find yourself trapped in a net, out of water, trying desperately to breath, drowning in an ocean of air. You’re not alone. You’re one of, at least, 1,500. All in the same net. All with the same destiny, which is likely being part of the menu of the day at any of the nearby restaurants. Not a big deal. Unless of course you’re the fish. Imagine putting yourself in its shoes (or, rather, fins), and feeling for the slightest second the excess of oxygen, better said the absence of water. Feeling the strangeness of the wind. The dryness of the sun. Hearing the extraterrestrial sounds of terrestrial beings. Shunned from swimming with the current or even float. For the fish, it was the end. Until a boy saved it.
From the thousands he picked out a single one. The one.
He saved him. The boy ran to show his father. He relished having the fish in his hands for a few moments, and before it was too late, gave him back to the sea. It was an epic moment. The destiny of being the menu of the day transforming into salvation, a second chance. We saw the fish entering the water before a wave break. I felt his happiness, the first mouthful of salty water and a fresh new start. “Everything’s back to normal,” I imagined he would think that very moment, the very moment when a seagull’s shadow became more noticeable, and before there was enough time for a second thought, the seagull caught the fish, shook it fiercely within its beak, and swallowed. It wasn’t just any day for the fish. Or for the boy. Or for his father. They went on to grab a bite at some restaurant nearby, and asked for the menu of the day. We tasted the tragic destiny of some lives.