S'mores and a Silent Scream

LEO

"Uncle Leo, do we have to eat the fish?" Fabian wrinkled his nose, poking at the perfectly cooked trout with his fork.

I nearly dropped the pan I was holding. After spending an hour catching this damn fish, cleaning it, and cooking it to perfection over our campfire, the kid was turning up his nose at it?

"You don't like fish?" I asked, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice.

Fabian shook his head, his dark curls bouncing in the firelight. "Not really. Mom says I'm picky, but I think fish just tastes like...well, fish."

I couldn't help but laugh. The honesty of children never ceased to amaze me. "Well, lucky for you, your uncle Leo always comes prepared."

I reached into our cooler and pulled out a package of hot dogs. Fabian's eyes lit up immediately.

"Hot dogs! Can we roast them on sticks like in the movies?"

"That's the only proper way to cook a hot dog in the woods," I confirmed, selecting two long sticks from the pile of kindling I'd gathered earlier.