• The swell of seagulls rose above us, towering to at least 40 feet in the damp summer evening air, and dove down in rythmic, almost planned, movements picking up the small limp bodies of dead fish from the sand and swallowing them whole. The sun was just begining to set over the horizion, casting an orangish glow out over the calm Gulf and reflecting from the building windows onto the seagrass beneath them. We (my family and I) had been net casting to catch the quick finned bait fish that hung around near the shoreline at dusk. Sometimes we would pull in thousands of the little silver fish at a time, too much for the yellow bait bucket to hold in its confines and there were too many of them to save from the sand. They would lay there, drowning on air, their miniscule gills sucking helplessly at the overwhelming oxygen that surrounded them, thrashing on the ground trying to reach the water that would always be just beyond their reach. We would all try to help them, running, crouching, grabbing and throwing the fish back into the Gulf, but our efforts were all in vain. We...I could never save them all. So after a while I would just give up and sit, panting, on the beach towels running my fingers through the fine grains of sand averting my gaze from the horrid scene of the fish dying, and being eaten. The stench of dead fish on my hands was nauseating, and I rubbed them in the sand trying uselessly to rid myself of the scent...the scent of murder. For this was in fact murder, even in the slightest way, and I felt guilty of taking their petty lives just for recreational use, fishing in this case. I don't fish, digging hooks through the living bodies of these helpless creatures just to feed them to larger fish is offensive and sick to me. Hearing the excited squeel of my younger siblings I glanced up for a moment, and sure enough, the adults were dragging in another load of bait fish from the gulf. The seagulls were craftily dodging and diving for the fresh load of fish being pulled in from the ocean. Sighing, I got wearily to my feet, shook the sand from my body, and prepared to commit murder one last time as the sun set completely behind the rippling waves of the Gulf of Mexico.