Categories > Original > Drama
You had to be careful when you went out to get fish.
Not of the fish. Oh, they might sometimes give you a bite, but that was just a tiny cut, and nothing to worry about. What you did have to worry about was stepping on a sharp rock-or worse, a sea urchin- and winding up with a cut that would take agonizing weeks to heal.
The castaway's keen eyes darted across the waist-high water. It was difficult to detect the quick motion of a swimming fish against the shimmer of sunlight on the water, but he'd been catching his own fish since he arrived on the island, and he had become skilled at spotting them.
A sudden movement off to the castaway's right caught his eye, and his hand whipped out quickly. The fish tried to escape, but his fingers snagged its caudal fin. Shrieking with elation he hoisted his catch out of the water, still clutching it possessively by the fin.
"A nice healthy one! You'll make such good eating!" he proclaimed to the writhing creature in a voice that was cracked and broken from disuse. He began his short wade back to the sandy shore, splashing salty water on what was left of his tattered clothing.
Up the dune he scrambled, raving to the flopping mass of meat clutched in his arms.
"I know you don't want to leave the water, but I'm sure we can be the best of friends! I'll just take you back to my place, and then you'll see!"
He staggered into the shade of his shelter, the fish still wriggling frantically in his hands. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the rest of his friends came into view.
"You see? None of them wanted to come inside, either. But now, they're so happy here, none of them ever leave! This over here is Linda, and that there is Louis, and over there..."
He continued, pointing in turn at each of the dead fish and then stating its name.
"...and there's Joseph. He tends to hog the couch, but he's a nice fellow."
That feeling in his stomach was coming again, the one that meant it was time to prepare his fish for life on land. He turned around and began to walk out of his shelter once more.
He crouched within the meager shade offered by the shelter. Its shape always dug up old memories for him. He couldn't remember exactly what his shelter was, but he remembered that it was what had brought him to the island, and that for a time he had hoped it would take him away.
"Now, my other friends have told me that it hurts a little, but only for a moment. Just lay still and I'll take care of you."
He reached around to try and find a rock. He never left the shade, not unless he had to. The sun was hot, and it burned his skin a raw red.
A sound overhead attracted his attention. A strange shape was moving across the sky, trailing a stream of cloud behind it. He'd seen and heard them from time to time, but had never been able to divine their function. He thought that they'd once held meaning for him, but now he had forgotten it, along with everything else that had happened since he had arrived on the island.
He fancied that they were Gods, come to paint clouds to give him shade.
His hand closed around a rock, and he brought it smashing down on the fish.
Not of the fish. Oh, they might sometimes give you a bite, but that was just a tiny cut, and nothing to worry about. What you did have to worry about was stepping on a sharp rock-or worse, a sea urchin- and winding up with a cut that would take agonizing weeks to heal.
The castaway's keen eyes darted across the waist-high water. It was difficult to detect the quick motion of a swimming fish against the shimmer of sunlight on the water, but he'd been catching his own fish since he arrived on the island, and he had become skilled at spotting them.
A sudden movement off to the castaway's right caught his eye, and his hand whipped out quickly. The fish tried to escape, but his fingers snagged its caudal fin. Shrieking with elation he hoisted his catch out of the water, still clutching it possessively by the fin.
"A nice healthy one! You'll make such good eating!" he proclaimed to the writhing creature in a voice that was cracked and broken from disuse. He began his short wade back to the sandy shore, splashing salty water on what was left of his tattered clothing.
Up the dune he scrambled, raving to the flopping mass of meat clutched in his arms.
"I know you don't want to leave the water, but I'm sure we can be the best of friends! I'll just take you back to my place, and then you'll see!"
He staggered into the shade of his shelter, the fish still wriggling frantically in his hands. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the rest of his friends came into view.
"You see? None of them wanted to come inside, either. But now, they're so happy here, none of them ever leave! This over here is Linda, and that there is Louis, and over there..."
He continued, pointing in turn at each of the dead fish and then stating its name.
"...and there's Joseph. He tends to hog the couch, but he's a nice fellow."
That feeling in his stomach was coming again, the one that meant it was time to prepare his fish for life on land. He turned around and began to walk out of his shelter once more.
He crouched within the meager shade offered by the shelter. Its shape always dug up old memories for him. He couldn't remember exactly what his shelter was, but he remembered that it was what had brought him to the island, and that for a time he had hoped it would take him away.
"Now, my other friends have told me that it hurts a little, but only for a moment. Just lay still and I'll take care of you."
He reached around to try and find a rock. He never left the shade, not unless he had to. The sun was hot, and it burned his skin a raw red.
A sound overhead attracted his attention. A strange shape was moving across the sky, trailing a stream of cloud behind it. He'd seen and heard them from time to time, but had never been able to divine their function. He thought that they'd once held meaning for him, but now he had forgotten it, along with everything else that had happened since he had arrived on the island.
He fancied that they were Gods, come to paint clouds to give him shade.
His hand closed around a rock, and he brought it smashing down on the fish.
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