A/N: For the Symbolism Competition by Lady Phoenix Fire Rose.
There isn't much info. About Freshwater Plimpies except that brief mention in the seventh book, so I'm making up the fact they have shells…like oysters, you know? Or maybe a snail is a better analogy.
BTW, the poison at the end is both physical and metaphorical.
What Lies Within
A small stream trickled at the base of the black house, tall and proud like the rook it resembled. Like all streams it contained a soiled interior, although it was repeatedly kept cleaner than most by the addition of a bed of stones acting as a filter. Small and smooth, the grey pebbles painted the floor and sides, right up to the rickety wooden bridge that could be seen at the beginning of the horizon from the uppermost window of the house.
The stream widened slightly as it neared the bridge, and thus the water running through it slowed in its gentle ferocity. From the end of the driveway, the force was enough to propel a paper boat down the body, regardless of whether or not it carried a candle with its wick lit. At the bridge, it slowed tremendously; many a time, the waterlogged paper sunk before accomplishing its voyage.
They weren't the only things that sunk. The seeds of Dirigible plum littered the tiny gaps within the rocky bed after all flesh and sustenance had been picked dry by the birds that frequented the area. Plimpy shells, glittering all colours of the rainbow, settled slowly to relieve the base of its monochrome décor; they were the only things that did, otherwise the riverbed would be a granulated surface of grey and white.
The net scraped the shells as a small pale hand dragged it across the floor, attempting to catch the slippery Freshwater Plimpies as they wafted along the river's currents. They weren't in shedding season; in fact, their season was reaching its prime. Within a few weeks, they would double or triple in number, clogging the smaller divisions downstream and stagnating the river. In other words, it was the opportune moment to fish, before the population grew to plague proportions and poisoned the river water.
The river currents pushed the Plimpies into the net and the shells back into their smooth blanket, making the floor glimmer as the rays of the morning sun hit them and bounced back. The small sleeves dampened as the hands strained against the net as it became heavier.
Footsteps crunched behind her, and stronger hands seized the rod.
'My precious Luna,' her father's voice cooed in her ears. 'My, what a lovely catch you've made.'
Luna looked at the Plimpies, bouncing around in their net. Out of the water now, the dance became a feverish frenzy, a desperate struggle for sustenance and life. The small round bodies twisted and churned within their net, attempting to squeeze through the thin paws, bodies shrinking while the shells that protected them became the single cause of their demise.
Later, they peeled the flesh away from the inner-granite surface, piling the multi-coloured minerals upon the kitchen counter in a dazzling ornament.
'It's beautiful.' As always, she saw it as a rapt beauty, a sight to behold. 'Daddy?'
'Just like you,' he murmured, smoothing back the tumbling curls of hair.
'But it's sad too.'
Her father blinked, before letting a sadder smile grace his face. 'You're just like your mother, you know that?'
Luna's rapt expression did not waver as she stared at the pyramid. 'Maybe if they hadn't had their shells, they could have escaped the net.'
Or maybe if they had been heavier, they would have dragged the weight away as well. It was always a sad thing, how humans exploited other forms of life. But as her father gave her a small spoonful of soup to taste, the thought, as it always did, drifted to the back of one's mind.
After all, beauty came in balance with the other forces of the world. And so did the large circle of life, wherein both the Fleshwater Plimpies and the human beings that ate them existed…for if they continued multiplying, the fluid they emitted became a bitter, incurable poison.