Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Um. If you can't tell what I was doing right before writing this, then you FAIL. XD

Also, fly fishing gets too much attention. All the fishing short stories in my English textbooks were always about fly fishing… Movies? All about fly fishing. Its annoying…

THANK YOU:
Zak

Lightskaylaction

Mochitsuki

Imjustagirl0077

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Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

Theme 11: Struggle

The waters of Starks Pond were choppy in the early morning wind. The sun, still low on the horizon, was hidden by fluffy clouds in the east. Kenny looked out over the water for a long while, eyes narrowed in thought, before nodding and turning back to the fallen tree half-sunk into the sandy/rocky bank. Picking up a battered silver-gray fishing rod, he ran pinched fingers over the line. Finding no snags in the line he unfastened the fish hook from the third ring and leaned over to the bucket sitting next to his feet. The water inside jumped to life as he put his hand inside. It took him a moment, but finally he caught one wriggling minnow, mouth gasping, tail flicking. With the easy movements of a seasoned fisherman, he twisted the hook and sent the edge through the minnows body, a few millimeters below its dorsal fin. The little fish jerked and danced in his hold, mouth opening and closing spasmodically, fins fluttering as if it were trying to propel itself through the air.

Dropping the fish into the water so it could keep water flowing over its gills, he played out a little line. Lifting the still wriggling fish out of the water he pulled the fishing rod back in an arc, water droplets falling off of it, glittering in the faded light. For a moment time seemed to stand in place, and he stood, rod raised and poised, even the wind seemingly stilling itself. Time jerked to life as the rod moved. With practiced ease he snapped the rod forward, line playing out in a flat, smooth arc. The minnow and bobber, separated by a length of fishing line, somersaulted through the air, colliding into the water with a loud splash. The bobber jumped to the top of the water, only to get pulled below as the minnow dashed around under water, struggling to escape. After a moment it settled down, the bobber only shifting slightly every few seconds.

Satisfied with the cast, Kenny settled the rod against a forked stick he'd stuck into the ground earlier. He sat down on the half-sunk log and looked out over the choppy water, trying to read when it was the water moving the bobber and when it wasn't, a task that sounded much simpler than it actually was. The erratic jump and shift of the waves was a good imitation of the minnow's own movement's, but after a few minutes he was able to differentiate between the two. The sun peeked out from behind clouds for a second before hiding behind them again.

The sound of feet reached him, and a moment later another person walked up next to the log.

"I overslept," Kyle smiled apologetically as he sat down next to the blonde.

"I noticed." Kenny grinned, sparing him a glance before looking back at the bobber. It was still floating along over the top of the small waves.

"Any hits?" Kyle asked softly, as if he feared his voice might break the quiet of the early morning.

"Not yet," Kenny replied just as quietly. Kyle shifted slightly, leaning his shoulder against the blonde's. They sat like that in silence for a while, the sun rising a little higher into the sky. Suddenly Kenny stiffened, eyes focusing on the bobber in the water.

"What?" Kyle looked at him, then over at the water. He couldn't see any difference in the movement of the bobber, but the blonde placed a hand on his knee, silencing him. A second later Kenny was standing, moving quickly over to the fishing rod. Kyle followed him after a moment, still looking quizzically out over the water.

The bobber wasn't moving rhythmically any more, Kenny noticed. There was a jump to its movement, a slight tilt as the minnow at the end swam to the surface in an effort to escape what pursued it. His hands found the handle of the fishing rod, lifting it slowly to keep from jarring the line too much. At this moment it didn't matter much if the line was jarred, but the tension he felt inside was dictating his actions, telling him to be careful, gentle.

The bobber dipped into the water, and his fingers tensed around the handle. His breath caught, he let it out tightly, took another breath. The bobber jumped to the top of the water again, dodging side to side. A slight jump, and then it dove into the water, down and to the left. Reflexively he pulled the rod to the right, snapping the line taut, felt the weight at the end of it. Right hand gripping the rod, his left hand gripped the handle of the spinner reel, moving of its own accord. The line pulled in tautly, shivering as the fish at the other end pulled back against it. Droplets of water flew off the line as it wound around the reel, splattering against his pants and the bank beneath his feet. Stepping back, he pulled the rod to the left as the line cut across to the right, keeping the line tight so that the hook couldn't be shaken loose, couldn't be spit out. Another moment of furious spinning, line winding in, and suddenly there was a change in the tension on the line. His mind barely registered it before a large silver shape broke the surface of the pond, water splashing to all sides as it twisted its body, powerful tail beating against the air. A second, and it was plowing back down through the surface, water spraying around it in large drops.

The tension on the line was lessened, and he struggled, muttering curses, to pull it taut again. For a horrifying, heart stopping second he felt it grow slack, felt the line wind in too easily, but then it snapped tight again, pulling against the weight at the end of it. For a long minute he fought, twisting the rod one way, then the other, leading the fish to the bank where he stood. The water at the edge frothed as its fins beat furiously, tail swiping powerfully in an effort to free itself.

"Do you need the net?" Kyle asked, ready to grab it, but Kenny shook his head.

"Nah, it's a bass…" He replied, pulling the line in as tight as he could. The fine tip of the rod bent drastically with the weight of the fish, but it was strong, and it kept the fish from pulling itself back into deeper water and making an escape.

Kenny leaned over, holding the rod at an angle, and hooked his fingers into the bass's gills. The fish was almost long enough to reach his elbow held like that, thick and meaty. Its mouth opened reflexively as it struggled to breathe, as it stifled in the air. Walking over to the log, Kenny leaned the rod against it. The next time the fish opened its mouth he stuck his thumb in, gripping its lower jaw between it and his fingers. The fishes mouth, forced open like that, stayed so, and the hook was visible not far inside.

"Shit, it could eat your hand…" Kyle muttered, standing next to him and looking down at the fish.

"Yeah, that's why its called a largemouth," Kenny explained, picking up a pair of pliers with his other hand. Reaching in with them, he unhooked the fish, then held it up with one hand in its mouth and the other under its tail. It wriggled for a moment, nearly loosing itself from his grasp.

"And?" He grinned proudly at the redhead next to him.

"Nice, dude," Kyle grinned back. He reached out a finger to touch along the bass's dorsal fin, feeling the sharp spines in the first half of it. "Its huge."

"Not really," Kenny shrugged, walking over to the edge of the water. Pulling on a rope fastened to a rock on the shore, he pulled up e net-like fish holder. Pushing down on the plastic flap at the top, he dropped the bass inside and put the net back in the water. "But its big enough."

"For what?"

"Dinner."

Kyle grinned.

"I can see why you like this, its relaxing…" He said, sitting back down on the log. He winced as Kenny fastened another minnow onto the hook, and waited until he cast out again before continuing, "Zen-like."

"It's a metaphor," Kenny sat down next to him, wiping his hands on his dark pants.

"For what?" Kyle asked, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking out over the water.

"For life," Kenny sighed, then shrugged. "For everything."

"Hm," Kyle frowned thoughtfully, and Kenny explained.

"It's like… you're constantly casting out, you know? With feelings, with actions, you're constantly putting out bait, something for someone to catch on. And sometimes you get a hit, sometimes you don't. Sometimes you're too tired and you miss one, and sometimes you're too impatient and you pull thinking there was a hit when there wasn't," Kenny leaned back a little, crossing his legs at his ankles, "But that's only half of it. The other half is how you reel it in, how you act when you get that hit. Do you reel in like crazy, pulling it in as fast as you can? Do you reel in slowly, constantly checking the tension on the line? Each time is different, each time there's a different element that makes it unpredictable. And its always a struggle, a fight to get it in, to pull it close enough so you can make something of it."

There was silence for a moment, both of them watching the bobber on the water jerk and shift.

"Everything's a struggle…" Kyle said softly.

The bobber floated on, dancing across the water, the minnow struggling for escape, for freedom, for relief.

"Yeah… but what matters is how you deal with it…" Kenny answered.