I remembered a story my father told me, about fire-fishers in Taiwan and how they lured fish with only light. On the darkest nights of the year, when the moon was rumored dead, they went out in their fishing boats and lit sulfur torches, waving them over the water. Swarms of fish flew out of the sea, spearing into the net, flocking to eat the torchlight. I thought it was a merciful way to kill something, to forgo the hook in its throat and teach a fish to love what’s above, to die for light. But then he told me he cried watching the fire-fishers lift their torches over the water, all the fish
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