Years ago I read a book written by an old man who believed that the body of a human being could change into other living creatures, such as fish.

The man who wrote the book lived in a place which he described as perfect. The perfect place had high mountains, millions of trees from millions of different species, and it also had a huge diversity of animals which calmed their thirst with the unspoiled transparent waters which flowed through the forest.

This old man was a writer who got sick of the city and bought a small ranch placed in a quiet forest where he could inspire himself to write, and fish in his spare time on all the different streams he could.

Every morning he would get up early and continue writing on one of his books, until lunch time. Then he would get his fishing gear and walk in the forest until he would finally find a nice spot and spend hours fly fishing for the trout and salmon of the place.

It was a foggy morning and the sun was rising over the mountains when he began to write the final draft of his new adventure book. He spent hours typing and at last he wrote the last paragraph of the story and then typed his name at the bottom of the page. Later, as usual, he had a quick lunch, then grabbed his rod and a little backpack and decided to begin his journey. He was happy because he had finished his story so he wanted to change the direction of the walk. He always went North, so this time he headed South. The streams were similar to the ones on the North side, so he fished the deepest one; the fish were the same, but a lot more aggressive. He caught enough fish and decided to keep exploring the forest, but he made a last cast which resulted in a long fight with a strong fish. Some minutes later he had the beautiful brown trout in his hand ready to set free when he felt a terrible pain in his hand. The fish attacked his enemy because it was afraid, and then disappeared under the water.

The old fisherman felt sick, suddenly he thought that everything that his hands touched felt oily, including his face, which seemed to have two small holes instead of a nose and later realised that he was not a human being any more, that he had suffered a metamorphic change. He was now underwater, swimming between the rocks and...

The writer suddenly woke up early in the morning and went directly to his desk to begin the writing of a new story based on a dream he had had that night. The dream was about the metamorphosis he suffered one morning when he was fishing a small stream.

Some hours later, after lunch, the old man grabbed his rod and backpack and headed South.