At fifteen most kids only have to worry about their homework or the style of their shoes. Gabe Perkins isn’t most kids. When diagnosed with a terminal illness, he begins to make friends with a girl so ethereal, he starts to question his own sanity.
“Look at those fish,” she said, diverting her attention towards the creek. “What about them?” “They’re just swimming along. Living and breathing. I wonder,” she said as she nudged her shoulder against mine, “if they know what purpose they serve.” “Well, they probably don’t.” “Why’s that?” “Because, they’re fish?” “Don’t think so low of the marine species.” “Zippy, they’re little minnows. They’re so little they probably only live a few months. Why worry about their place in life?” “I don’t know. Something of the simplicity of them is nice, though, you must admit.” She gleamed ear to ear, “Imagine, if you were a little minnow, swimming down the creek.” “Oh, crap.” “What?” “Do you really think there’s something out there that really cares about those little fish? Or even, you know, if something out there is looking down at us, talking about us like we’re little fish? As if we’re just tiny little minnows swimming down a stream, unsure of what fate lies ahead of us?” “I do.”
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