If Wishes Were Fishes
By Mickey

STORY STATUS: Completed 7/29/06

ARCHIVE PERMISSIONS: Ask first. I'll probably say yes.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for fun and I sure as hell didn't get paid for writin' it. No copyright infringement intended.


I wish my Dad hadn't died in the Korean War when I was a year old.

I wish I'd have at least gotten a chance to know him.

I wish my Mom had hadn't married that prick, Dean, when I was five.

I wish my dog hadn't died when I was nine.

I wish Grandpa hadn't died that same year. I know he would have loved Sara and Charlie as much as I did, do.

I wish Uncle Colin hadn't ran over my bike when I was twelve. That was the coolest bike I'd ever had.

I wish Grandma hadn't got cancer and died twelve years after Grandpa. I know she would have love Sara and Charlie too.

I wish Mom hadn't died before she really got to know her grandson. Charlie was only two at the time.

I wish I hadn't spent four months in that Iraqi hell hold of a prison. Or spent six months in rehab afterwards.

I wish I would have swallowed my foolish anger at Frank a long time ago.

I wish I had accepted his apology instead of waiting until he was spiraling uncontrollably towards a black hole and hoping he could see in my eyes all the things I wanted to say.

I wish I'd let Charlie play with that stupid water gun.

I really, really wish Charlie hadn't found my gun, and that I hadn't forgot to lock the box.

I wish Daniel hadn't died . . . ascended . . . whatever.

I wish I were at my cabin, sitting on the deck and fishing in my lake that has no pesky fish in it. Yup, just kicking back with a pole in one hand and an ice cold beer in the other.

If wishes were fishes and lived in the sea . . .

Now where did that thought come from?

Something my Mom used to say to me when I was a kid. A nursery rhyme or something. I never could remember the rest of it. Still can't. I don't know what made me think of her either. Man, I miss her.

It doesn't make sense to me. Never did, but it sure as hell beats thinking about the acid that's slowly burning through my tender flesh towards my heart. Once again, Baal's aim is deadly. He hit the same spot as the first time.

Crap! A second drop hits the back of my hand. Not as painful as the first drop, but it still hurts like hell.

He isn't asking questions this time. He just releases a little acid and watches. His lips twisting into a sadistic grin of pleasure with every moan, groan, that escapes me. I think he's waiting for the screams. Hate to disappoint you, Bouncy Bocce Ball (well not really), but it ain't happening.

At least not yet.

A third drop comes at me.

Jesus. Oh God! Shit, shit, shit, that hurt!

That's hitting below the belt.


Pretty close to screaming here.

Crap. Good thing I don't plan on having any more kids. Peeing could be a big problem too. Then again, he'll just throw me back in that damn box and it'll all go away. Until next time.

Another drop hits me, this time in the neck. Okay, that warrants a loud gasp at least. "Ahhhh."

This guy brings a whole new meaning to the words sadistic bastard.

It's getting hard to breathe.

I'd like to tell him in no uncertain terms, using every filthy word I know, in every language I know, just what I think of the snake. But my vocal cords aren't working any more. I can't even groan.

The look on his face is pure, malevolent, evil. This session is strictly for fun.

Oh GOD! The fourth drop hits my eye. I want to scream. Loud and long. It burns through my eyelid as if it isn't even there. It makes short work of my eyeball as well.

Daniel, where are you. Are you here now? How can you just stand by and let him do this to me? How can you watch him slowly destroy me?

It's funny really, the thoughts that pop into your head when you're dying. My last thought as my life slips away from me is that stupid damn rhyme.

If wishes were fishes and lived in the sea . . .