My Name is Salmon, like the fish

Hi everyone,

  My name is Salmon, like the fish, except that, I am really the fish.

I swam in the seas and banks in the Norwegian region and I am probably one of the most favored salmon breed of all; somehow people just love the sound of Norwegian Salmon.
If you are reading this, I am probably dead by now; meeting my final end on your plate or right in your stomach.

We swim in schools and though we know the risks of being hauled in loads, we still do it.
Well, I don’t know I guess the risks are there but there are also chances of some of us escaping when we are in large numbers, unnoticed by that guy in the shadowy boat up there on the surface of the water.
I guess like all the rest of my kind, we are always just waiting by the day, on when we will really land in the nets and that would be our end.
I mean, I don’t think people actually fish us for the sake of placing us in beautiful aquariums or in the huge display overhead tanks in Underwater/Sea World (though there are some of us who just made it there and survived but still die of depression anyway), because we are just far too prized with our nutrients to nourish the human souls.
We are just one of the upper class fish breed and almost everyone loves that taste of a good salmon fish.

I think I was swimming with my family and the rest of the population from the other side of the coast when we were just hauled into the net and then I was knocked unconscious. I could still breathe a little but the last I know was that I could feel that sharp pain caused from something cutting across my body.
I could then see myself and a whole load of my breed being transported to the different places; jetted or shipped to our final destinations.

I was all cleaned and sliced (all of me), and packed with a plastic seal over all my parts which were separated into many white flat boxes. I could see many people walking around and this part of me, where I could see, ended up in the home of this couple.

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I could see them pouring some black liquid over me, then there is that heat as I felt parts of my flesh touching that hot surface.

There was a little oil (I know oil because I have seen them in some parts of the sea, though this was in clearer color compared to the black ones I have seen).

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They cut me into half and then I could feel the pain when my flesh hits that hot surface.


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The outer epidermis layer of my skin did little to protect me from that heat and my flesh was turned over several times in an attempt, to, I think I heard the word “cook” me.

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They even kept pressing onto my flesh with that hard wooden surface thing to make sure I was actually "cooked".
I really don't like the sound of that.

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They took some time to turn my flesh over from one side to another, in an attempt not to “overcook” me, as they wanted that light succulent taste.
That doesn't sound any better either.

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It was quite easy to cook me, as I heard them say, and that some of the restaurants were charging exorbitant prices for a little piece of me.

Ahem, I think I am definitely worth any price for after all, I am a fish of a premium breed, sir and ma’am.


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They were delighted that I was finally cooked, though they were not fully sure for it was also one of the first attempts to cook a fish like me.
(Well, I would advise them or anyone else for that matter, not to, so that my family and me will be safe from harm)


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I had to cover my eyes in horror to watch how they practically grill me, “to perfection
(I wish I could grill them too, in return)

Now if that was not enough, they had to do it the second time.
(Remember they cut that portion of me into half, and so, I had to endure the pain of watching myself being cooked, again).

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They were really excited, and it makes me mad.

Then they had to pour that black sauce which they call Teriyaki sauce all over me again.

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I have perfect and beautiful orange pink flesh I am proud of, and I think I am already gorgeous.
Why would they want to rub that sooty color all over me, not once but twice?
The first is to ‘Marinate’ me and the second is to “Add that final flavor” – whatever that means.

Those cooked parts of me were just laid on the plate with that nice wooden spatula, as they called it.

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While I was thinking about my fate, something familiar caught my eye right beside me.

That flash of familiar orange pink color sitting right in that transparent bowl.
Oh no, it can't be, can it?

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Not again, it's my kind again!
They are my fellow salmon fish too, just in slightly different form.
Why are they cut into even smaller pieces?
Oh, dear God.

Why do they like my type so much?

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Those were smoked, and go best with the greens.


I am so sorry for my kind who went through similar fate, or worse than mine.

Well, at least parts of me were there in larger pieces but that other one was just shredded to slices and scattered all over those green leaves.


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Then there's this God awful yellowish liquid all over them, so not cool.

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God bless them.

It looks like a happy home cooked meal and there was this other bowl filled with bright orange red color and I could see, again my fellow sea creatures, prawns and fish which were made into some fish cakes.
I am sorry my fellow fish, we thought we had it bad, but your flesh was grounded and just made into paste.
That is just so degrading.
(I know they are from the sea, though I am sure they are from other regions. They just look like those who swam with us in my part of the ocean, but I don’t know them. Still my heart goes out to them).

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Well, compared to the massacre that goes around the world for my kind; be it in masses of raw flesh, grilled, barbecued, fried or just cooked in various ways, I would say that I have served my purpose.

This dear couple had certainly been kind not to waste any part of me and had made it all worthwhile.

Also I have made their home cooking experiment successful, and contributed to their nutrients supplement in the healthy department.

Most importantly, I have made them happy.

Actually, I don't look half that bad as the Grilled Salmon steak they planned.
(I think this part of me does look pretty distinguished)

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I can now rest in peace, or if you will excuse me, I need to search for my other parts of my body which could have landed in some other menus elsewhere.


Yours sincerely,
Salmon, actually, the Premium Norwegian Salmon
(they say we are rich in Omega-3 fatty acids and generally good for your heart)





In memory of the wonderful Salmon fish mentioned in the story, who has made part of our home cooked dinner as the Grilled Salmon Steak and the Smoked Salmon Salad Green.
You have been a great companion.
May you now rest in peace, Amen.






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