The Boil

As a lobster living off the Maine coast, you’ve always known exactly how you’d die. One day you’d be trapped, plucked from the cold ocean, boiled alive, and eaten by a hungry human.

            C’est la vie, you always told yourself, but when it’s my time, I’m gonna fight!

            Now, your day has come. The trapping and everything after was a blur, but you regain your wits just as you’re being dropped into a pot. You clench your claws and brace for the boiling heat.

You hit the water, and you’re surprised to find that it isn’t boiling. In fact, it’s calm and tepid. You’re confused at first, but then you realize…you aren’t being cooked. Your panic fades, you relax a little, and you take comfort in your new pot. If anything, the temperature is preferable to the frigid ocean. You loosen up, and now the water feels really cozy, with just the right amount of warmth.

This isn’t so bad! I could get used to this!

You question all the warnings your lobster-mates gave growing up, because this water is wonderful, not deadly, but you’re distracted from your revelation when you notice yourself sweating through your shell.

Eh, I’ll adjust eventually, you say dismissively. I’m just not used to the warmth yet.

            You’re appreciating your luck as a tiny bubble floats past you. One by one these little bubbles appear. After a few minutes, there are torrents of them everywhere you look. You wonder where they came from and try to wipe the sweat from your head, but you can’t move your claws. You’re impossibly weak, it feels like you’re slipping from your shell. A small panic sets off in your mind as the bubbles grow bigger and angrier all around you. You splutter as the water roils, and now you’re having a new revelation.

            I’ve been tricked!

            You try to think of ways to escape, but your brain feels like it’s being pulled from your head. A numb paralysis consumes you. You curse yourself for thinking this could possibly be something other than a boiling pot, for thinking you could live here without getting scalded. With the last of your strength, you scream desperately, wondering if anyone can hear you or sense your anguish, or if your misery is felt in vain.

            By the time you realize it’s too late, your captors are already preparing their salt and butter.