Fishing With Flowers

Dec 8, 2019

693

3 Mins Read

As cliché as it would be, I would love to start this story with “it was a dark and stormy night” but I’m under strict guidelines by [redacted]. So, it was a bright and sunny day over the ocean. Sea for as far as the eye could see. This is where we find our star. A humble fisherman in his humble fishing boat. It was the type that has the vintage look to it, dark colors, the crane looking thing. Named “The Prosperity Fin”. The fisherman, though, didn’t quite fit. He was young, handsome, a jawline so chiseled you’d swear he was marble. He wore a floppy fishermen’s hat to keep the harsh rays at bay. His eyes as blue as the seas. His name, well I don’t know his name. I’m giving you the information I’ve seen.

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On this very lovely day, our star sailed, bringing in heaps of fish. Nose to the grindstone, but that nose got distracted but a dash of color, almost a twinkle, out of the corner is his eye. He had to look up. Something was in the water a few hundred feet away. His eyebrows fell as his head swirled with answers, none of which fit. He walked back to the front of the boat, into the cabin. 697Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBThMNZtvkA

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Like the rest of the boat, you would expect, the cabin is modest in size too, but it feels homey. He hung up some nice pictures of forests and wolves. Some Christmas lights hang along the top. On the console, the steering wheel, the radio, that kind of stuff but also a picture of his pretty wife. He’s out here to provide a better life for her. He tilts the wheel and aims for the thing that’s caught his eye, it doesn’t take long at all to reach it.697Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNsYEFxtHdK

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He steps back out on the deck, drops the anchor and leans over. What he saw, floating in the surface, was a flower. It was pink and looked like it had just bloomed. Even from the boat he felt he could smell it. A scent so sweet, like an invading army marching through his nostrils, laying waste to everything in its wake. He felt compelled, he couldn’t control himself from leaning over the boat and reaching down to touch this pink flower. His fingers slowly entered the water and turned. The stem between his fingers and his fingers under the petals, and then the flower sunk and sunk fast, like a, well, an anchor, pulling the fishermen along with it. In the blink of an eye, the drop of a hat, he was gone and being pulled to the depths. His grasp tightened onto the flower as it took him deeper and deeper, too fast to tell what was going on. The light started evaporating, disappearing from view as the dark took a strong foothold in his vision. With pitch black all around he couldn’t see the flower, his hand, himself but he could still feel. He could feel the water as it got colder, the flower and it’s soft petals around his fingers, his lungs as they began to shrivel, the slimy tongue, the teeth as they scrapped his body being swallowed whole, the scaly surface as he thrashed. And then, nothing. The fishermen, gone, his hopes, his dreams, gone. All that remains is a lonely boat and an even lonelier widow. 697Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOExh4N1LxQ

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Fishing With Flowers

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