The Lobster Folk

It was not a bad life. The elders advised their offspring about the new food and the danger over many generations. Eventually, techniques for exiting traps became widely known. It was the younger ones sent in for the bait, whose successes, particularly if they were nimble, ensured the survival of the colony. Trained they were, little and littler.

For a long time, they thought the increasing number of traps was favourable. So much high quality snacking, yet so few occasions to browse around. The colony grew. The Lobster folk grew less able to cover the distances they did as individual hunters. Time was when they couldn't remember the shadows, nor changes in the current. The temperature stopped giving them hints. They got the nice free food all right, but they stopped learning how to find it outside the traps. They stayed in one place, for a long time after the water tasted fine. Soon, the murky sea engulfed them as they started eating their own oil-covered shit, along with the bait. Their digestive tracts, mostly still immature and not able to break down the garbage in a good way, well, they started to die.

The big blue one buried herself deep under the slime, to reflect on the turn things had taken, and to come out when it was safer.