The fisherman pulled in the line on his rod, knowing that it was the end of the day, and that he must head home to his wife an
The fisherman pulled in the line on his rod, knowing that it was the end of the day, and that he must head home to his wife and children. To his ungrateful wife and children. They never smiled or laughed, couldn't enjoy a nice meal when they had one. When the fisherman went out of his way to buy them something nice, they turned up their noses as if they were better than the hand that feeds them.
Bob the fisherman sighed again, and he decided to throw his line out one more time, to see just what luck would bring him. The shores of Hook Coast were sometimes known to give lucky catches at the most random of times. Bob pulled on his line gently, and there was an almost insignificant tug, so Bob disregarded it as a bit of seaweed or mud. As he pulled in his line, though, there was a great amount of resistance and Bob pulled as hard as he could. The line quivered, and threatened to snap, but with a great tug on the line, the line flew out of the water and behind Bob's head.
Bob turned to see what had caused him to struggle so hard. He had anticipated a 25 pounder, maybe more, but what he saw was a porcelain mask, with the colors of blood red and dark purple staining it.
...
Later that night, Bob pulled in his days meager catch as he braced himself for the absence of devotion and love he was about to face. He walked in the door, with barely enough food to feed the family, and his wife, Clarissa, snarled at him and asked, "Why didn't you catch more?" Bob shrugged off the question, and hoped his three boys would at least hug him. Bu they were not in sight, so Bob forgot about it.
Bob sat down in the family's chair, and looked at the portrait on the wall. The portrait was of a great hero, wearing golden plate mail and seeming to have the slightest trace of a Halo over his head, as if he were an angel. Nobody remembers exactly what the hero did, and why he was so great, but Bob's father, his father, and his father, and so on, they all claimed one thing. They all claimed to be related to the great hero in that painting and that painting was passed down through every generation. Suddenly Bob remembered about the mask he had found while fishing, and decided to take it out.
He stared into the empty eye sockets of the mask. A trace of power was revealed just by touching the mask. It was surely old; there was the faint hint of age on it. Yet, there were no scratches, or dents. Almost on a subconscious level, Bob felt the urge to try on the mask, but he felt like it would be better suited hanging in his room, on the wall. After Bob ate dinner alone, he went to bed on the couch. Clarissa kept the bed to herself.
…
That night, Bob dreamed. The mask seemed to be talking to him, in a sweet yet sinister voice.
"Bob the fisherman," it hissed. "I want you to wear me… together we will be all powerful. Together… with that family bloodline of yours…"
Bob snored. He woke up the next morning, took a jog, and tried on the mask in an alley.
Authors note: Sorry for not writing in a while... I have been very busy with my friends, girlfriend, family, and other stuff! Please excuse my absense for a while. If you liked the first chapter, please review! I usually do two or three chapters a day when I'm in the mood to knock it out.