What is he planning to do out there?

Fishing.

What? There are no fish in such shallow waters, probably just some shells, crabs and a whole lotta crap. Seriously, what does he do?

He just sits out there holding his rod, with the waves occasionally lapping at his feet and the sound of the sea around him. Ever since he lost his vision, I don’t dare let him go out further. I guess he’s remembering all the summers he used to go out on his boat with his mates, the shared laughter and jokes. Sometimes I see him laughing. Sometimes he cries.

It’s not the fish that he’s after, it’s the memories.

 


Written for Friday Fictioneers based on photo prompt by Ted Strutz

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21 thoughts on “Some kinda fishing

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