This is my attempt at covering a different angle of Threads. I really had to fish for it, because it's been somewhat overfarmed (wink, wink!) In case you haven't guessed, this fic will be written from the point of view of the fish in Jack's pond - well, sort of…
This is a departure from my usual 'style,' so I hope it still floats your boat! For this and other aquatic-themed puns, please continue reading..! Freya x
He'd successfully angled the largest fish in his recreational fishing career. This time he had no intention of throwing it back, and every intention of gloating about it.
This rare beauty had eluded him for years. It was his white whale.
It was unlike any vertebrate he'd encountered in the past. This one was highly evolved. From the moment it'd glided into his life, he'd been intrigued. It had appeared in his pond with something to prove, and dazzled him with its agility. Apparently, it had come from a prestigious school. At first, he'd tried not to notice it's well-developed eyes and sleek skin - but, hey...he was only human!
It had come during a time when he had sworn off fishing. He'd still been reeling from his last disastrous fishing trip, and wasn't sure if he had anything left to offer the sport. In light of his poor handling techniques, he'd made the conscience decision to abstain from all rod and tackle activities. For the most part, he was content - then, it came along and rippled his waters. It made him want to be a better...fisherman.
He was the first to admit, he'd misjudged it at first. He'd mistakenly measured it up against the others of its kind. He'd assumed it would be fragile - vulnerable to sighted predators. He was gravely mistaken. This fish could handle its own!
He enjoyed watching it interact with its environment. From what he'd witnessed, it seemed to be a creature of extremes. One minute, it would surprise him with its enthusiasm and intensity - the next, it would exhibit a kind of selective vulnerability reserved only for him. He found it disorientating and endearing.
In the wild, it had a sophisticated means of camouflaging itself. Although it's colouration was purely utilitarian, it wore it well. Unfortunately for him, it also turned the heads of other terrestrials. He suspected their motives weren't as pure as his. They seemed to desire it as a prize, a trophy to be preserved. They didn't value it for its fighting abilities. His inner fisherman didn't appreciate the way they caught and released it - but he knew it was tough, determined to survive in the turbid blue puddle.
He knew this particular fish was a protected species, but he found himself being drawn to it like an aggregating device. The more it was in his presence, the harder he found it to maintain a safe distance. In spite of himself, he couldn't resist testing the waters. He tempted fate and dropped in his barbless hook to see if he could entice a bite - but there was nothing. Either the fish was uninterested or distracted - he wasn't sure which. A few times he thought he felt a tug on his line, but it always went away as quickly as it came.
It had taken several years for him to realise he'd become obsessed. Although he hadn't dressed his rod, the fish had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. He made the difficult decision to pay out his line and ease up on his pursuit. He'd come to regard it as a national treasure, and he didn't want to prematurally remove it from the water - that'd be tantamount to killing it. He tried to justify his actions by claiming he was liberating the fish to facilitate its survival. So, he let the nylon go slack in his hands and vowed to wait and sea if conditions would change. Historically, he wasn't a patient man - but he knew the fish was worth the wait.
And he was willing to wait with baited breath.
Then came the day when it was unceremoniously plucked from his pond - caught by a younger, eager aquarist keen on domesticating it. He knew its colours were too bright for captivity, but he forced himself to believe it wanted to live in a glass cage.
In an effort to fill the auger-shaped hole in his chest, he decided to cast out his net to other freshwater creatures. Although he was out of practice, he managed to snag a lesser craniate. He didn't have to work hard to trawl it in, and it felt good to be back in the game. There was a part of him - a part he tried desperately to ignore, that missed the challenge and adventure of big game fishing. He may have caught this prey with natural bait, but it felt so artificial. It didn't take long for his catch to drop from his line, sensing his head wasn't in the sport.
Unbeknownst to him, the winds of change were shifting. There was a light breeze coming in from the west, the air pressure was rising and a few soft clouds were peppering the sky. In other words - optimum conditions for fishing. He couldn't remember a time when the conditions had been so perfect.
He wasn't the only one to notice. With the foul taste of aquarium living still fresh in its mouth, the fish had returned to the pond with a renewed sense of confidence. It was finally ready to enact the ultimate strike.
He wasn't expecting it, but after 8 years of waiting - he felt something akin to a pull at the end of his pole. Without disrupting the prevailing current, he checked his bite indicator - there was definitely something there!
For the last time, he put his heart on the line and dangled the bait...
"Hey Carter, wanna go fishing?"