Friday Flash

Instead of babbling about all and sundry, I thought I would post one of my flash fiction pieces. This is a little something I wrote based on a prompt on the Authonomy blog.

Bad Day Fishing

Around Matthew and his Grandpa, the lake was fading in the early evening light.  Neither spoke as both were lost in thought, the clunk of the oars echoing across the water.

For Matthew, the afternoon at the cabin had begun well enough.

"We'll head across the lake," Grandpa pointed. "There's a cove. Can't see it from here, but it's a good place."

They stepped the heavy mast and rowed away from shore. The wind came up, as if Grandpa had ordered it. The skiff picked up speed, speeding across the water.

Reaching the cove, they dropped anchor first, then their lines.  Disaster struck just ten minutes later.  Grandpa had just pulled a beauty into the boat. Taking firm hold, he worked the hook from the fish's mouth before putting the fish into the canvas creel.

"There's half our dinner." He said, dropping the creel over the side, hooking the strap to a cleat. "Your turn, now."

Matt still didn't know how it happened.  He bumped the cleat. He remembered that and then, disaster.  Maybe the wood was rotten but no matter, the cleat broke free and fell into the lake, taking the creel with it.

"Whaddja do that for?" Grandpa shouted in quick anger. "God dammit!" He joined Matt in looking over the side.

Below, the water was purely clear.  Details highlighted more than if they didn't have the lake between them and the bottom.  Brown algae covered smooth stones, played over by light, shadow, the flicker of waves and, resting in the middle of the picture, the creel.

Matt swallowed, frightened to have angered his Grandpa who was as likely to hit as to hug.  It was his way, how he had been raised.  Matt loved his Grandpa, but not that.

Matt swallowed. "I'll dive down and get it. I can do it."

"It's too deep, bout thirty feet or so I'd guess, and cold. That water is freezing cold."

"It doesn't look that deep."

"'tis. Been fishing here since I was a kid, used to swim here, too." Grandpa raised a hand and Matt cowered. The hand turned away and rubbed its owner's neck.

Relief brought an idea with it. "I know!"

"What?"

Mat snatched up the tackle box, got the spool of extra line and set to work. When he was done, the braided line with its weight went over the side. He moved that line back and forth, up and down. A few times, the hook caught on the canvas, but it always broke away.

"That was a stupid idea, anyway." Grandpa muttered, turning his back on his grandson.

Matt did feel stupid and, suddenly, reckless.  He pulled up the line, stripped off his shirt, pants and shoes, and launched himself over the side.

Grandpa was right - the water was cold, freezing - but Matt didn't care. He was going to get that creel if it was the last thing he ever did. Flipping over, he dug down through the water. Ice slid around him, clenching his muscles into almost cramps. He reached out, caught the strap, turned and fled toward the sunlight, his legs churning.

Grandpa was staring over the side when Matt's head breached the surface. "You stupid kid! You wanna die?"

"I got it Grandpa." Matt pushed the creel up. It was hard, but he lifted it above the surface, felt fingers snatch it as he began to sink back, too cold to raise himself up.

"Matthew!" Grandpa's voice was muffled, but the fingers came back, grabbed, held and pulled. "Help me, Matt. Come on."

Used to obeying his Grandpa's orders, Matt did.  He helped and, after a mighty struggle, slithered over the side into the shelter of the boat.

"Stupid kid," hands found the old smelly blanket kept under the front seat, tucked it around his shaking body. "Whatdya do that for? Scared me to death, and for what? A canvas pouch and a dead fish? Stupid kid."

Grandpa pulled up the anchor while Matt shivered. "Get your clothes on, they'll help warm you up, then you can help me row, get your blood moving."

By the time they rowed back across the lake, Matt was warmer, his clothes dry and he looked up, glad to be there, alive.

Around the lake the mist was rising, pale green and white and Matthew grew up a little.

His Grandpa wasn't mean, not really. He got mad because he worried too much. He lashed out when he thought things were escaping and he got scared.  The truth fit into place with a quiet surety. Matt looked into the soft evening, and smiled.

******

Have a lovely Friday!

Best~
Philippa

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