Shark Tales!

“He refuses to eat,” Mama Shark expresses. “He’s so picky. It’s getting out of hand.”

Deep in the Great Pacific, a Papa Shark returns to his coral reef home after a long day of working in the sea weeds. Papa Shark’s 8-year-old son, Baby shark, sits at their dining table, tossed from a boater ages prior. The Coral that should’ve been consumed is played with by the teeth of Baby Shark.

“It’s because of that junk you keep feeding him,” Mama Shark scowls. “That junk from the land is why he refuses to touch his coral!”

“Come on, son,” Papa Shark orders, hovering over his son. “We need to have a talk.”

In an unknown part of the ocean, Papa Shark swims besides his son, passing by the other creatures in the sea. The sunlight from dry land up above rays down on the endless water. In what appears to be the brightest part of the ocean, father and son arrive in a ray of liter floating from the baby blue skies. Baby Shark smiles, spotting his favorite snack in the air. A red Doritos back, watered down chips trailing around it.

“Mm!” Baby Shark smiles, snapping a piece of the soggy delicacy into his mouth. “I knew we were coming here!”

“I’m not going to bring you back here if you refuse to eat your mother’s meals,” Papa Shark states. “I know you love junk, but you’ve gotta start eating your coral and seaweed. It’s better for you.”

“Coral and Seaweed aren’t as good as they appear on Spongebob,” Baby Shark complains, snapping another chip in his mouth.

Raising an eyebrow, Papa Shark wonders,

“And what do you know about Spongebob?” He asks. “Have you been to The Upper Hells to have disproven that myth?”

“Cousin Great White has an uncle who was fished and captured, put in a bucket and driven away in a boat miles away before he flopped into the ocean and escaped. He says that while captured, he and a small human watched that show for hours,” Baby Shark expressed. “They have a show written about us, or at least that’s what the other surviving fish have expressed!”

“Mm.”

“Papa?”

“Yes?”

“Why does the Floating Food festival always happen when the rays are the brightest?” Baby Shark asks, chewing on a floating banana peel.

Papa Shark stares at the rays above. More items float from above. Cans of soda float. Tissue. Foil. Chicken bones. Wrappings. Some are not edible. Broken pieces of wood. An unknown gooey substance, green colored. Lemon peels. Remnants of a yacht party with enough food to go around. The bottom of a wooden boat bobs beside the trash in the upper distance, some trash refusing to sink.

“When the suns the brightest, we receive the most foods from above. Bones from the fallen fish even manage to make their way down at times. I hope you never live to see that sight,” Papa Shark says, circling the other way. “It’s called ‘Littering’. For some odd reason, warm water brings out the best of it. Come on, let’s head back home and I’ll tell you more about it.”

“I see bones, but not from a fish,” Baby Shark says, gazing in the sky. “Could I bring it back as a snack?”

“Absolutely not. It’s not edible and your mother would kill me,” Papa Shark refuses. “Come on. We must make it back before the sun’s down!”

“D’ya think I’ll be able to try one of those human’s someday?” Baby Shark smiles, swimming beside Papa Shark with the Banana Peel in his mouth.

“I’ve had a bite of one before,” Papa Shark says, both sharks fading away in the dark blue distance. “They’re not that appetizing…”