"You got 'em! You got 'em!" My son whooped next to me. He danced around the surf eager for his next meal as the fish squirmed in my grip.

I thought back to earlier in the day, when I'd found a beautiful, red starfish on the bottom of the ocean floor. What a wonder it'd been.

Maybe it was a lack of sugar. Maybe I was coming down with something. Somehow, though, between this morning's starfish, and this poor fish's shimmering scales, I'd lost my drive to hunt.

"Here," I said to my son, handing him the fish. "Go clean it up for tonight's supper, Champ."

My heart wasn't in it.

I was a realist, though. "Gotta eat," I said to myself.

"Poor thing."