Fish

if only memories could be time travel.

A breeze is ruffling my hair.  I feel it swirl around me, cold and biting yet oddly welcomed.  I take a sip of my Coca Cola, also cold, also welcomed.  The carbonation sparks in my throat as I watch the little fish dart back and forth.  Silver phantoms are running in and out of shadow.  I could watch them for hours and be perfectly content, but not today.  Today I am in the fishing kind of mood.  I lean over the edge of the dock, belly to the planks, to pluck a mussel from his rest.  I reach down to the water.  My hand creates a gentle ripple in the glassy surface as it slip beneath it into the playground of my little flashing friends.  As they scatter, I attempt to snatch one, though I know the effort is futile.  Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I grasp the rough shell of a large mussel and pull it loose.  I take it out of the water and place it on the dock.  The water dripping from my hand makes a playful pattern around its solemn blackness.  I lift my shoe to crush it and think how appropriate, that it is dressed in black for this.  I bring my foot down hard; hear the mussel snap and fracture as its innards are exposed.  I lean down and pick the oily yellows and slick browns from the ruined creature.  I take my hook and bait it.  Yellow and brown are mixing together, dripping translucent bile onto the surface water. 

 I have no pole and the line is wrapped around my fingers.  I lower the hook in and wait.  I sit on the dock; feel it rock with the water.  The gentle splashing creates a soothing rhythm.  A boat drives by and the rhythm gets louder, the gentle rocking turns to a bouncing roll.  The little fish run away to cower and leave my bait all alone.  The wake has slowed now and the rhythm is back to normal.  The fish pop there heads back out of the dark and see if the coast is clear.  They come back and check my hook.  I start to fidget with anticipation, though I’m careful not disturb the line.  They start to bump and nibble at my hook.  I feel every bite vibrate up the line and into my fingers.  They eat through all of my bait without a sure hook.  I pull it out and reach for another mussel.  Once again, the fish flee from me.  I pick rather large one this time.  I set it on the dock and then smash!  It bursts under my shoe.  The slick colors ooze through the cracks in the planks.  I pick some out of the pieces of shell before it all slides through and I lose my new bait.  I re-bait the hook.  It’s harder now that my fingers are oily from the previous mussel.  I plop the hook back into the water and relax some more while I wait.  

The coolness fills my lungs as I breathe in the ocean air.  I can hear a seal bark from across the bay, mixing with the beat of the slapping water. I feel a tug on the line and I yank back.  I got one!  I pull him quickly out of the water before he can wriggle his way off the tine. The fish hits the dock with a thud.  I watch him hop about for a moment then quickly grab him.  He’s wet and slimy and cold.  I can barely hang on he is squirming so much.  I pull the tiny hook from his lip and drop him into my bucket.  I watch him swim around as I take another sip of coke. 

 Now I get another mussel to help find my catch a friend.  I bait the hook, drop it in and wait again.  I wait and wait and wait.  I forget what time it is and I have no idea how long I’ve been out here.  It’s getting colder now.  I pull my jacket tighter to me.  I glance at my captive fish to make sure it’s still alive.  I don’t want to kill him; I just like the catch.  I like to watch them get excited at my bait and I like the anticipation of the hook.  I will let him go eventually, but for now, he will stay in my bucket so I can observe him and maybe find him a friend if I am so lucky.

 I feel another tug on my line yanking my fingers down.  I pull up quickly, but not quickly enough.  Fish One’s prospective companion escapes with a free lunch.  Here little fishy!  I have more food for you, come on back. He ignores my plea, but I see another fish approaching.  I take another swig of cola and anticipate another catch.  I see him nibble and then bite.  I feel familiar tug and I pull harder than before.  The fish comes flying out if the water in a shimmering flash.  The hook slips out of his mouth and he plunks down to the dock.  I thought he might clear the dock completely and I would lose this one as well but I see him hit the ground and flip around, wildly trying to reach the water. I pick him up before he can dive over the side and place him into the bucket with his new comrade. They seem to get along all right.  They’re swimming a bit faster now, and causing small splashes to smack the sides with a tiny drumming sound. A frantic game of follow the leader is in play.  

I finish the last of my soda and set down the can. It plunks down with a hollow ring. It is getting a little to cold now. I pull my line out if the water and untangle it from my fingers. I pick off the last bit bait and throw it into the water as I kick the broken mussel shells over the side. They spin in circles as they float down to the sandy bottom. I roll my line and place it back under the sombrero of the little clay man that adorns my grandmother’s dock.  I then turn my attention to my fish, swimming in circles in their plastic home. I grab the handle and begin to scoot the bucket to the edge. Tipping it slowly, I start to drain the water and hope the fish will have sense enough to swim with it. They don’t. I abandon my attempts at being gentle and quickly splash them into the water. They swim off with one last flick of silver and evaporate into darkness. The sun will soon do the same. Turning my back on it, I head towards the pink house and steaming bowl of grandmother’s chili that will be waiting for me inside.

 

Author's Note

please comment if you read it. thanks :)

Reviews

[Kayleen]

this was a school assigmnet on descriptive writing. there wasnt supposed to be a point. its just to reflect on a memory

[Lauren Marie]

Well, I read it, so I'll comment.
First off ... "The fish pop there heads ..." It should be "their."
"It is getting a little to cold now." Should be "too."
There were also a few more spelling and grammar mistakes, but nothing too major.

This story reminds me of my older writings.
I thought the description was cute, but then at the end you threw in something about her grandmother's house, so I think you could give us more hints of her surroundings throughout the story.

And, there really was no point to this at all. We just saw the main character catch some fish. There wasn't any theme or moral to this story whatsoever. Without that, it leaves the reader thinking, "Well that was a waste of my time," but if the moral was, oh say, it's the little things in life that matter, then you won't be wasting anyone's time.

Write to leave something for your readers to take with them.

But this was a cute little scene, and I could see everything that was going on.
~Lauren