To Catch A Fish
ZLizabeth
Chapter Two
Thank you A.J. McClane for the quote.
"A thousand fishing trips go by, indistinguishable from one other, until one comes along that is fatefully perfect."
A thousand jagged rocks stuck out from the shoreline of Breezy Point. To get to the choicest fishing locations, he had to stride across the rocks. When he was younger, he had often slipped and cursed aloud the damned journey. Wedged in between two massive black structures, he clawed at them to get up, and kicked fruitlessly at the grey sand.
He was taller, slimmer, stronger, now. He leapt easily across them, and the routine felt as normal as it had running around the track of the gym. He didn't explore them anymore. He was afraid of falling. He had accomplished grace, and he wouldn't fail himself.
He never sat while fishing. Even when he paddled out into the shallowest and gentlest waters in his Betsy, he stood while casting. Sometimes while lounging against the rocks, going through the effortless actions of fishing, he would think back to where his phobias orginated.
He would scan through fishing trips, the ones that he remembered. The ones with his grandfather, the ones that he took by himself, alone and terrified that he would do something wrong without the instruction of his teacher. The trip that he had taken after the death of his grandfather.
The world of fishing revolved around his grandfather. He would shake off the merry-go-round of montagues and smile, casting again. Then the fish would dissolve into girls and he would think back. Back to times that seemed anicent and alien.
The conquests, the missions, the overruling. The worshipping blue eyes, the silken blonde hair.
He didn't remember names very easily. The other fishermen often ridiculed his lack of memory. They guffawed at the absense or unorginality of names in his lovemaking epics. The Seduction of Mary, the Wooing of Whatshername.
There were some names he remembered.
Two universes, two suns. The spun in different directions in such perfect parralels to each other.
He liked the concept of fate. He never believed in destiny and co., but he liked to think about them while staring at the back of her head during class. He never applied fate to the real world.
He did think of fate in fishing.
When he happened to get lost in the twists of that lake in Canada, only to land the biggest fish he had ever seen outside of the stuffed one on his mothers wall.
When the rain forced him to turn this way and pratically bump into that beautiful bass just hugging the shoreline.
He didn't anymore. Fishing had become the reality that he dreamed about.
***Reviews will make me happy.
ZLizabeth
Chapter Two
Thank you A.J. McClane for the quote.
"A thousand fishing trips go by, indistinguishable from one other, until one comes along that is fatefully perfect."
A thousand jagged rocks stuck out from the shoreline of Breezy Point. To get to the choicest fishing locations, he had to stride across the rocks. When he was younger, he had often slipped and cursed aloud the damned journey. Wedged in between two massive black structures, he clawed at them to get up, and kicked fruitlessly at the grey sand.
He was taller, slimmer, stronger, now. He leapt easily across them, and the routine felt as normal as it had running around the track of the gym. He didn't explore them anymore. He was afraid of falling. He had accomplished grace, and he wouldn't fail himself.
He never sat while fishing. Even when he paddled out into the shallowest and gentlest waters in his Betsy, he stood while casting. Sometimes while lounging against the rocks, going through the effortless actions of fishing, he would think back to where his phobias orginated.
He would scan through fishing trips, the ones that he remembered. The ones with his grandfather, the ones that he took by himself, alone and terrified that he would do something wrong without the instruction of his teacher. The trip that he had taken after the death of his grandfather.
The world of fishing revolved around his grandfather. He would shake off the merry-go-round of montagues and smile, casting again. Then the fish would dissolve into girls and he would think back. Back to times that seemed anicent and alien.
The conquests, the missions, the overruling. The worshipping blue eyes, the silken blonde hair.
He didn't remember names very easily. The other fishermen often ridiculed his lack of memory. They guffawed at the absense or unorginality of names in his lovemaking epics. The Seduction of Mary, the Wooing of Whatshername.
There were some names he remembered.
Two universes, two suns. The spun in different directions in such perfect parralels to each other.
He liked the concept of fate. He never believed in destiny and co., but he liked to think about them while staring at the back of her head during class. He never applied fate to the real world.
He did think of fate in fishing.
When he happened to get lost in the twists of that lake in Canada, only to land the biggest fish he had ever seen outside of the stuffed one on his mothers wall.
When the rain forced him to turn this way and pratically bump into that beautiful bass just hugging the shoreline.
He didn't anymore. Fishing had become the reality that he dreamed about.
***Reviews will make me happy.