Pink, Flowery Angst II
A Collection of Emo One-shots
Loneliness in a Fisherman's Soul
He sighed. Sitting in the same spot for fifty years was no life. He'd been born the child of a crazed fisherman, always obsessing over his hobby. An obsession he would unfortunately inherit.
The fisherman had spent his entire existence at the ponds of Moon Mountain. Wildlife frolicked happily. Bugs existed for the sole purpose of giving jerks something to show to the local girls and have them panic. Yet their lives were still more productive than his.
He never attended any festivals, weddings, or funerals. The townspeople had known him as well as he knew himself—as a one dimensional being whose only contribution was handing out fishing rods to random people. How could he ever rid himself of that reputation?
He imagined festival scenarios over and over in his head.
"Wow, the Sowing Festival balloon sure looks expensive. Who wants a fishing rod?"
With that question, he swung the pole, bursting the balloon with its deadly hook.
---
"He looks so peaceful…"
After saying that, he decides to sneak a fishing pole into the coffin of the deceased man. Everyone watches in horror as it jabs into the body.
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"Do you, Jack, take Ka…Oh my GODDESS!"
Out of instinct, the fisherman attempted to cast, shattering the beloved and beautifully carved statue of the goddess into thousands of pieces.
---
And even giving out fishing rods was pathetic. Really! Jack wouldn't need to fish in order to get food. Jack had a cow and several chickens, not to mention a ton of plants. Hell, if the florist sold grain he could open a friggin' fast food restaurant in the back of the farm. And if he wanted something fun to do, he could just steal booze from Karen's basement!
But the fisherman was growing determined. He would grow a spine and do the impossible. He would go into the village and meet with all the townspeople.
When he entered the village, all the houses seemed deserted. He was used to being alone, but didn't expect it. Did everyone move on or die when he'd been distracted by his sport?
Thankfully, he had wandered into the Town Square and noticed that the Horse Race stands had been set up. The mayor just assumed that it was someone from a neighboring town—there was no way a person as dull as the fisherman would visit an exciting race, right?
He stood next to Ann, who looked as if she would be content for the rest of her life just by seeing all these horses.
"So…" he started, struggling to make conversation, "this sure is a normal thing, right? A festival people normally go to, right?"
"Um…yes?" Ann answered, confused. "But this year's different. Grey's racing again for the first time since the accident."
"Really?" the fisherman questioned. "You can get into accidents like this? Wow, you idiots! Fishing is safer and better than your stupid… I mean, wow, what a miracle. Such fighting spirit."
The redhead had inched away before he'd finished speaking, and had hidden in the sea of villagers and visitors. He sighed in defeat.
But there were kids from other towns there. A blank slate. They didn't know him as an odd, misanthropic fisherman, but rather as some weird old guy. And that was somewhat better.
"So, come here often?"
Having been detached from society for so long, he didn't know that they would interpret that as an old pedophile hitting on them. Oh, how naïve he was.
After running away from their parents, a task that required several overturned concession stands and a quick slap with the wooden fishing pole, the fisherman had found refuge on the other side of the wall. He gazed over it to watch the races.
Once the panic had died down, he jumped back into the regular horse race area to watch the final event of the day. Grey and Jack, the two local farmers, were competing head-to-head.
The fisherman was glad that he'd found something else that amused him besides fishing. Maybe he could have a normal life after all. After all, with his healthy diet of fish and herbs, he could live a lot longer. Maybe he wasn't a lost cause after all.
But he felt an urge. Before he could recognize what it was, he had his fishing rod in hand. He was horrified.
"No… not now!" he pleaded. "For the love of the Harvest Goddess… not… now…"
He cast anyway, into the race. The hook gripped Grey's pants, pulling him straight off his horse. His flailing and thrashing released him, but sent him into the race wall. With a sickening crash, the carnage of his last accident had been doubled.
He sighed. Maybe sitting in the same spot for fifty years at a time was what he was destined to do.
Comments:
Rule of Angst Number two: There is no character too obscure to write an angst-filled story about.
I love this one. Darn NPCs think they're so cool. I'll put them back in their place, lousy bums…